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jeysbvck · 15 days

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even if it's a false god (we'd still worship this love)

a/n; ive been working on this for over a year, & after four rewrites, its finally here! thank you to @pedroassmanpascal for your help when i was conceiving this & working on it last year! this is my first time working in this genre, & it hasn't been beta read all the way thru, so please let me know what you think!

warnings; pov change, a butt load of angst, age gap (reader is in her thirties), violence, death/murder, near death experience, voyeurism, female masturbation, male masturbation, male!recieving, female!recieving, penetrative sex (if ive missed any feel free to let me know!!)

taglist; @likedovesinthewnd @harmshake @nightmare-viper

word count; 7.3k

summary; Joel's been pretending you don't exist for weeks now, and you have no idea why. But when you get caught up in a life or death situation, confessions are made, lines are crossed, and your relationship is changed.

Every single part of Joel's body hurt, and he was exhausted. Joel was always exhausted, but this day had been particularly hard. Everything that he - and you had gone through had been for nothing. The supplies and weapons you had been looking for had been looted already. Only a few old, rusty tins of food covered in at least a years worth of dust had been left behind. Not to mention the constant hoards of infected you had to fight through. Now, it was a fight to get back to the QZ to make another plan that could end the exact same way. Yeah, he'd had plenty of bad days, but this one would sting for a while. The hope that had been reignited had gone out again. Now he was just tired.

No matter how hard he tried though, he couldn't sleep. He was just lying on the hard floor -the fabric floor of the tent and his blanket doing nothing to help with the lumps under his back- with his eyes closed and ears alert. He knew how dangerous it could be, the horrors lurking in the woods, even when it was calm and quiet, and he hoped you had heeded his advice and were asleep with your gun.

But then he heard a whimper, and his eyes shot open as he stayed silent, his hand on his pistol. A barely heard whine, and he sighed with relief as he realised it was you. These past few weeks had been taxing - although the past twenty years hadn't exactly been a cake walk - and it dawned on him that you were probably crying. Joel had been so drained and tired during dinner that he selfishly hadn't noticed you were unusually quiet. He also didn't think about it when you retired to bed early. Joel tried to ignore the sounds, but he couldn't, he was just picturing you curled up in your tent, crying yourself to sleep, and the guilt of not noticing anything was wrong was gnawing at him. He groaned and slipped out of his tent, making his way to yours while putting the gun in the back of his jeans.

He quietly navigated the campsite and stopped outside your tent, unsure how to proceed. Did he knock on the fabric door, or did he call out your name? He wasn't good at this stuff, and he hadn't been for a long time, but he also knew that you needed someone; or, more specifically, you needed a friend. You were just that kind of person, even if the world had forced you to pretend you weren't. For a few seconds, he couldn't hear anything, but just as he was about to give up, he heard another noise, but this one sounded more like a moan. Then another one, louder now, and there was no mistaking it that time. Joel's body stiffened, and he started to get hot as his cock twitched at the thought of you getting yourself off, mere feet away from him. He heard your sleeping bag rustle slightly, and he bolted back to his tent, breathing heavily as he zipped the tent door.

He stared up at the roof of the tent, trying - but ultimately failing - not to think about what he'd just almost interrupted. His jeans were uncomfortably tight, and he had to unbutton them just for some relief. He tried to divert his thoughts, to think about anything else, but his mind took some winding paths just to get him back to thinking of you. Joel groaned. He needed a release, and it had been a long time since he'd done, well, anything. It wasn't going to hurt anyone, and you were doing it just mere feet away from him, so what was stopping him? They were all flimsy arguments. He knew that, but it was the easiest solution to the problem at hand.

Joel slipped a hand into his boxers, his cold touch sending goosebumps down his spine, the sensation making him harder. He began to stroke himself, and when he closed his eyes, he could see you writhing around in your tent, your fingers deep inside yourself. He could hear you from your tent still, your quiet whimpering and moaning sounding out through the stillness of the forest, and Joel caught his own moan in his throat as his movements got quicker. He couldn't bring himself to care about the possible dangers lurking, the grip he had his cock on tightening slightly as pictures of you clouded him. He imagined you being in here with him, imagined that you were both watching each other. It didn't take long for Joel to make himself orgasm, and he cleaned himself up, hoping sleep came to him before the guilt did.

Joel spent the next few days convinced he was going crazy. Every time you looked at him, he was sure you could see the guilt he was struggling to hide, like his memories would be projected for you to see. Every time you said his name, he was waiting for you to tell him you knew what he'd done, that you'd seen him outside your tent, and heard him in his. He felt so dirty, creepy, ashamed, and at some point, he shut down completely. He knew you were confused, you weren't as good at hiding your emotions as you thought, and you were confused by what you could've possibly done to warrant the cold shoulder from Joel, who could barely look at you, and it made him feel worse. He just didn't know what else to do, so he went back to what he knew best.

After traipsing through the woods for what felt like forever, Joel just wanted to set up camp and get through the night. He was tired, sore, hungry, and needed a moment away from you, without your sad eyes staring at him, without your attempts to get him to open up. So when you announced that you'd had enough and insisting that you stop for the night, Joel didn't argue. While Joel set up the tents, you gathered some wood from the perimeter of the "campsite", and Joel took a moment to watch on fondly, smiling to himself at the smug look of accomplishment on your face, taking the "win" against Joel.

Dinner was silent that night, as the past few had been, and while Joel refused to look up from his food, you were refusing to take your eyes off Joel. Your gaze was burning a hole in his head. He felt scrutinised as he ate, and it took everything in him not to engage. He didn't know if you were trying to annoy him into talking to you or if you were lost in your own thoughts, but he didn't ask.

Once again, straight after dinner, you headed into your tent, sending a soft "goodnight" Joel's way. He looked up but not before the sound of the zip echoed out, and he sighed, rubbing his temples.

The fire had died long ago, but Joel still hadn't found the energy to crawl into his tent. He stared up at the starry night, and just as his mind started to wander into dangerous territory -somewhere he never went if he could help it- he heard the noise that had been playing on a loop in his head for the past two days. His cock stirred and he covered his face with his hands. Not again.

He knew he had to get back to his tent and fast, but he had to do it quietly. He began to slowly move the canisters and empty tins, careful not to make any noise. He didn't want you to think he was a pervert. Although that's exactly how he felt right about now. He was about to stand up when he heard a single word from your mouth that made him stop in his tracks.

Joel.

Fuck. Oh fuck. Did you know he was there? Did you hear him? Could you see his silhouette projected on your tent, like it was a cinema screen? He ran through a hundred excuses in his head as he slowly turned to look over his shoulder, and he let out a sigh of relief when he saw no signs that you'd heard him. He scoffed at himself and shook his head. He really was going crazy.

Mmm, Joel, don't stop!

He definitely wasn't going crazy, there was no mistaking it. Not only were you masturbating, mere feet from Joel, but you were moaning his name, and he had never been so hard in his life. He couldn't stop himself, and once again, he unzipped his jeans and pulled out his cock, and while you moaned and gasped from inside the tent, Joel pleasured himself.

His precum was seeping out and over his fingers, and he bit down harshly on his lip to stop his own sounds from escaping. His motion got quicker, matching the sweet sounds coming from your tent, and when you brought yourself to orgasm and Joel's name slipped from your lips, he came undone. He emptied himself onto the dirt, too entranced by your gasps to notice the streams spilling over his fists. He dropped his head against the log behind him and groaned.

"Shit."

It happened three more times, and Joel had never been more conflicted. He was constantly stressed and on edge; the guilt from what he was doing was eating away at him. He'd always been someone that could control himself - he had to be - but when it came to this, to you, it was like something triggered inside him. He'd known you for years and had never had these thoughts or these feelings. Then again, he'd never spent this much time with you, and he'd never heard his name fall from your lips like that.

Joel couldn't deny he thought you were beautiful, and that maybe it inflated his ego a little, that you were thinking about him while you fucked yourself with your fingers, or dreaming about him, but he was under no illusions that it meant anything. You didn't have feelings for him. He was just the only person you'd seen in weeks that wasn't trying to kill you, and feelings get warped. Especially with the way the world was now. Besides, he'd seen the guys that hung around you like moths drawn to a flame. They were much younger and fitter than Joel was. Yet, he found himself as one of those moths, and he couldn't help but imagine how it would feel to be caught in your flame.

Joel was no longer waiting to hear you to get himself off. His mind would conjure up images that made it so he couldn't help himself. Images of your mouth around his cock, your hair tangled in his fingers as he fucked your face. His head buried deep in between your legs as he ravished you, his hand clamped over your mouth to muffle your moans of ecstasy. Of his cock slamming into you, his fingernails leaving little indents in your ass as he gripped firmly. The fact that he would never get the real thing didn't bother him. He was content with his fantasies. But he still felt guilty, and the tension between you and Joel was getting worse.

But things were beginning to simmer inside Joel, and his secret masturbating habits were no longer the sole reason for his behaviour. Joel would look over at you, by the fire feading the book you'd memorised front to back, and he'd let himself imagine running his hands through your hair as you sat lazily against him. When he slept, his dreams were of a life he'd never thought he'd want - or have again, and you were always by his side. He'd dream of dancing with you in the living room, waking up beside you, the sunlight making you glow like an ethereal figure. He'd dream of being happy. He'd put it down to the ridiculous situation he found himself in and told himself that once you were both back in the QZ, things would go back to normal. You would go back to people your own age, and Joel would just be a memory of a small fantasy you had while on a difficult run.

But then, as if the universe was trying to intervere, everything changed. The abandoned building you'd been hiding out in turned out not to be not so abandoned, and the two of you had gotten yourselves into a sticky situation. Hunters had cornered you, and in all the chaos and commotion, the last man standing had grabbed you, now using you as a human shield with his arm almost choking you, a knife pressed just above your collarbone while Joel had his gun aimed right at him.

"I'll take yer girls head off!" The guy yelled. Joel could see you were terrified, and it took everything in him not to let his rage consume him. He knew that one wrong move could get you killed. He needed to be smart about this.

"Look, man, we don't have much, but you can take it all. Just let her go." Joel said, trying to keep his voice even. He was terrified that he wasn't going to be able to save you, and he couldn’t live with that. It wasn't just about someone else that he cared about dying or about him failing. You understood him, and somewhere along the way, you had unknowingly brought him out of the darkness. You were his beacon of light, and if he lost that, if he lost you, he wasn't sure he'd ever find his way out of the darkness again.

"Yeah? What if I want 'er?" The hunter sneered, caressing your cheek with his knife, pressing the tip into your skin ever so slightly.

"Not an option." Joel growled.

"Seems like it is to me. I could drag 'er outta here right now. There ain't nothing you could do about it."

You felt sick. You couldn't believe you'd let yourself be distracted by Joel being tackled to the ground, and now this disgusting pig had you in a fucking headlock. You'd seen Joel take down hunters and the infected, sometimes effortlessly, so why the hell did you freeze when Joel had been pinned to the floor momentarily? Your feelings for Joel were getting more and more confusing, and you didn't like it one bit, they were going to get you or Joel killed if you carried on like this.

It's not like you wanted to be attracted to Joel, not when there wasn't a single thing you could do about it. Why would Joel ever go for you? He was twenty years your senior, old enough to be your father. There was just no chance in hell. Yet, you couldn't stop yourself from fantasising about him. It wasn't hurting anyone, and it was keeping you somewhat sane, and he'd never know.

"You won't make it out of this room." You heard Joel say in his deep, gruff voice, and it sent shivers down your spine. Your eyes squeezed shut when you felt the man breathing on your neck, the hot air making your stomach twist, bile rising up your throat as he inhaled your scent, his own vile one violating your senses. You clenched your fist and felt the cold blade of your dagger against your arm, the one you'd forgot you had up your sleeve, literally. How big of an idiot was this guy? How didn't he see you had a knife? As Joel and the hunter traded words, you quickly formulated a plan. If you could somehow manage to stab - or at least slash the guy - maybe he'd let go of you, and then Joel could get a shot in.

"Let go of me!" You shouted, struggling slightly, while slipping the knife further down your sleeve. It worked, and you smirked proudly. You raised your eyebrows at Joel before glancing down at your hand, subtly flashing the knife. You looked back at him, then darted your eyes to your captor. Joel took a second, and you knew he was weighing up his options before he nodded slightly. His eyes darted down to the guys leg, and you winked to let him know you understood the plan. The man still had a fucking knife to your throat, and you didn't want to give him any warnings or ideas.

"Don't worry." The hunter said, 'I'll look after 'er good."

Joel nodded to you, and you clenched the knife, stabbing right into the hunter's thigh. His yells of pain echoed around the room, and he released you from his grip, the knife in his hand clattering to the floor. You stumbled forward, kicking the weapon across the room, but you thankfully managed to stay on your feet. You grinned at Joel, feeling victorious, but it was a fleeting feeling.

"Fuckin' bitch!" The hunter shouted and you turned around, but not quick enough. The knife was sticking out of his thigh, but it didn't seem like he felt it, he was too overcome with rage, and the back of your head slammed against the wall as the hunter pinned you by the throat. You gasped for air, the guys hands squeezing the life out of you, spit flying as he screamed in your face.

"I'll fuckin' kill you, you goddamned bitch!"

You tried to pry the man's hands from around your neck, but it was no use. He was too strong, and your vision was fading rapidly. You were barely able to gasp Joel's name, and you were quickly losing consciousness. All you could do was stand there and let the darkness consume you as you thought about Joel. The way he'd try to hide his smile when you did something wrong, or when you said something silly. The way he laughed, how it was the rich sound you rarely got to hear. How he protected you, even though he clearly didn't want to be around you. How you were going to die, not knowing what you did to make him ignore you the past couple of weeks. Not knowing why he had this sudden disdain for you.

But then, the pressure around your neck suddenly disappeared, and you fell to the floor, gasping for air as you clutched your throat, your eyes wide and darting around wildly, searching for Joel.

He appeared on his knees in front of you and grabbed your face, his panicked, brown eyes staring deep down into your soul.. "Hey! Hey! Are you alright? Come on baby, just breathe for me."

His large hands were warm on your cheeks, the hunter's blood that stained them smearing across your skin as he caressed your cheek, but still, you leaned into his touch. He had never been this gentle before; in fact, he'd never really touched you unless being dragged by your wrist as you ran from infected counts. "I'm okay," you managed to say, and Joel sighed with relief.

"We need to move. Can you stand?" Joel asked, and you nodded, eyes closed as you took a few extra slow, deep breaths. "Okay. Take my hand."

You opened your eyes to Joel's outstretched hand and you took it, letting him haul you gently to your feet. He hooked his arm under yours to help you walk, and as you concentrated on walking with shaky legs, Joel guided you to the door. "Wait here." He said, disappearing out the front door to check for any danger.

As he did so, you turned to inspect the chaos you were leaving behind. Your stomach lurched as you saw the blood pooling around the dead man with a clean, almost surgical, maroon slice straight across his neck, and you wondered just how many times Joel had had to do it, to get such a clean cut. Your eyes snapped back to the door, where Joel was staring at you, his eyes wide and sad, like a puppy, before they hardened. "Let's go." Joel said. "We'll find a house to hide out in."

The universe had decided you could both use a break, and less than two hours after the attack, deep inside the seemingly never-ending woods, the two of you came across an unlocked cabin, the keys just sat on the side table. Joel put his finger up to his lips, and you nodded, following his lead as he crept through the front door. He pointed at you, then at the spot you were standing, and you nodded, doing as you were told while Joel checked it out. Neither of you wanted to take any more chances after today.

"Hey, you might wanna come check this out!" Joel's voice echoed through the cabin, and you closed the front door before heading towards the sound of his voice.

The cabin was rustic and run down, and looked to have been abandoned for a decade at least. It had been a hunter's cabin, judging by the animal heads mounted up on the walls, staring down at you with their black, beady eyes that seemed to follow you everywhere. The fireplace was brick, an axe resting against it with piles of wood stacked in front. You turned around and found Joel in the kitchen, staring down at the sink. As you got closer, you heard the familiar sound of a running tap, and you smiled. You'd take any kind of water right now, anything to get rid of this day.

But then you saw it, dancing through the air, rising from the tap. You were convinced you'd imagined it until you saw Joel's fingers rolling together under the water, a look of shock on his face.

"Is that what I think it is?" You asked as you got closer, and Joel nodded. You gingerly held your fingers out, anticipating cold water, not wanting to get your hopes up. But when your fingers hit the warm water, you let out a bewildered laugh, cupping both hands under the water, letting it spill over as it slowly but surely got hotter. "I can't believe it!"

"Yeah, well, we deserved a win eventually." Joel replied. You made eye contact, and the corner of his mouth curled upwards slightly, his eyes darting down to your neck before he took a sharp breath and turned away. "You should go have a shower."

"What about you?" You asked, and he sighed.

"Just go. I'll wash up here."

After stripping off your clothes, you looked at your reflection. Only then did you notice the bruising around your neck, and the blood smeared across your cheeks. You could still feel the way the hunter's hands squeezed so tight that you could feel the life draining from your body. You could still feel the panic and terror you felt and the relief when Joel forced the hunter to let go. The look in Joel's eyes when he held your face, the gentle touch as he caressed your cheeks and brushed your hair out of your face. You thought you'd made your peace with dying long ago, but that was until you almost met death, and it made you realise you didn't want to leave Joel. If Joel was in your life, maybe living was worth it.

You were so lost in thought, staring at your scarred body in the mirror, you didn't hear Joel knock on the door. It was only when the door burst open with Joel shouting your name that you turned around, surprised.

Joel kept his eyes on yours, refusing to let himself cave and look down; although it's all he wanted to do. You knew you should grab the towel, or the shower curtain, anything to cover yourself, but you were frozen, like Joel's gaze was keeping you locked on the spot.

Joel cleared his throat and shoved a bundle of clothes into your arms. “Sorry, I-uh, I thought maybe you were- it doesn't matter. I found those, thought you'd want some clean clothes.”

He left, slamming the door behind him, and you exhaled. You ignored the thoughts creeping in and the heat rising up your body and climbed into the bathtub under the running shower; watching the dirt and blood trickle off your body and down the plughole. Once the water ran clean, you stepped out, patting yourself down with the small towel. You then filled up the bathtub with hot water and then threw your underwear and clothes into it. It wouldn't fully clean them, but it'd be enough for now. You picked up the oversized flannel and pulled it over your shoulders, forgoing the jeans that were way too big for you, even with the help of a belt. You sighed and headed back out to Joel.

The fire was burning, the crackling wood echoing through the cabin. Joel was sitting at the wooden table in front of the window, sipping on a glass of wine. There were two plates of pasta on the table, a glass of wine next to one of them. You padded across the room and dropped into the seat opposite Joel, studying his face as he stared out the window. The sky was pink and orange as it set through the trees, the view almost as beautiful as the one sitting next to you; the light of the sunset cascading over Joel. He turned his head to you, and you glanced down at the food. Joel cleared his throat.

"I found some pasta and wine in the cupboards. It only went out of date a few weeks ago." He explained. "It should be okay for us to eat."

"I'm sure it's fine." You replied, "anything's better than beans again, right?" You leaned forward and took the glass of wine, taking a long sip, basking in the way it burned your throat slightly. It had been so long since you'd had even a sip of alcohol, you could swear your head was already fuzzy.

Like most dinners lately, this one was silent. But this was slightly different, considering you were probably the safest you'd been in a long time, and you were eating actual food off actual plates. If you and Joel were in a better place, it would be almost considered domestic. You might even consider staying here, leaving the QZ far behind. But you weren't, Joel could barely bring himself to talk to you — he couldn't even look at you. You really thought you were turning a corner with him until his behaviour changed one morning without warning.

"We should stay here for a couple of days, then head back to the QZ." Joel said. You sighed and finished your glass of wine, but it wasn't enough.

"Great." You replied, looking around for the bottle of wine. "Then you can go back to pretending I don't exist." You weren't sure where the outburst had come from, but you were pretty sure it had something to do with the alcohol running through your blood.

"Pretending you don't- what? I don't do that!" Joel insisted.

You scoffed. "Oh please, you're not as mysterious as you like to think." You said, although there was little truth to it. "You didn't even know my name in the QZ, yet we were around each other for months! I thought we were getting somewhere, but lately, you've been acting like we're strangers!" You told him.

"What?! Okay, maybe I was a little isolated in the QZ, but it's not like that now!" Joel replied, his fork clattering on the plate when it dropped from his hand. "All I do is worry about your survival!"

"Riiiiight, because you care so much." You said, rolling your eyes.

"It's my job to pro-"

"Your job?" You repeated, offended by his words, although you couldn't place why. "Well, allow me to relieve you of your duty." The chair screeched across the floor as you stood up and grabbed your unfinished plate and glass.

Joel inhaled through his nose and groaned. "That's not what I meant, and you know it."

"Well, I mean it. Leave. I didn't need a babysitter before, and I don't need one now!" You said loudly, heading to the kitchen for a reprieve.

Joel growled and slammed his palms on the table as he stood up, refusing your reprieve, following you to the kitchen. "I'm not leaving you to die out here. Which, you would've already if it wasn't for me. You've proven that multiple times!"

"Maybe," you replied, dropping the plate in the sink, staring at Joel, whose eyes darted away. "But I'd rather die alone than with someone who can't even stand to look at me!"

"I can't look at you because you drive me fucking crazy!" Joel exclaimed, his patience finally having worn thin. "Ever since I heard you moaning in that fucking-" He stopped, his eyes wide and on you as he realised what he said; watching his words dawn on you as your face cracked.

Nausea, or quite possibly embarrassment — rose from your stomach up through your oesophagus, and you drank from the glass of wine that was in front of you — which wasn't quite the best course of action as it didn't sit well on your spinning stomach. Joel had heard you masturbating. That's what he was saying, right? There wasn't anything else he could possibly be referencing. But why would it drive him crazy? Joel could be uptight sometimes, but it didn't seem to be in a "women shouldn't pleasure themselves" way.

You blinked a few times, and Joel's face came into focus. He had closed the gap between you both, now only a few feet away. He looked awkward as he shifted on his feet, rubbing the back of his neck, looking uncomfortable.

"You heard me mast -" You stopped, unable to say the word out loud, and you sighed, feeling ridiculous. "You haven't been talking to me for weeks because you heard me -"

Something clicked in your head, like a light had just been switched on. You hadn't just gotten yourself off once. And at some point, you began to fantasise it was Joel's fingers, or mouth, even his cock instead of your own hand. You were aware a couple of times his name had slipped from your lips, and you'd clasped your hand around your mouth afterwards, praying he hadn't heard you.

It was beginning to seem very likely he had heard you, and something in you shifted from embarrassment to…something else, and you arched your eyebrow, finishing off the glass of wine for some extra courage.

"You heard me say your name.” You said, arching your eyebrow. Joel stared before he nodded slowly.

“I heard.” He confirmed, refusing to break eye contact. The air in the kitchen had shifted; it was thick with tension, and Joel wondered where this was going.

You hummed and tilted your head. “What did you do?” You asked, smirking when it was clear it caught Joel off guard.

"What?”

“What did you do, Joel?” You asked, leaning back against the counter. Joel's eyes darted to your bare legs before slowly dragging them up your body, stopping at the three open buttons that exposed your cleavage.

“I thought I heard you crying, so I came to check on you.” He explained. “When I got to your tent, I realised you weren't, and I went back to my tent.” His eyes darted to your face before he closed the gap between you until he was practically on top of you. “I tried to ignore you, but I couldn't help myself.” He lifted your chin with his index and middle fingers, so you were staring at him through your lashes. Your lips parted slightly as your chest rose and fell, your heart pounding against your rib cage. “I kept hearing your moans and thinking about you in that tent, and it got me so - I had to -”

His eyes were dark, full of lust, and you instinctively licked your lips slightly. "You- couldn't help yourself, huh?" You asked. Joel arched his eyebrow and tentatively reached his hand up to your cheek. He traced his finger over your cheek gently, and you closed your eyes as you inhaled. "Hearing you moan my name," He said, running a path down your jaw to your neck, "it sounded too good."

You reached up, closing the gap between your lips. Without hesitation, Joel reciprocated the kiss, his hand still around your neck as the other slipped around your hips, resting on the bottom of your back, pulling you closer to him. His bulge pressed into your crotch and you could feel it getting harder as the kiss deepened. You tugged his brown, leather jacket from his shoulders while Joel started an assault on your neck. If this lasted forever, it still wouldn't be long enough.

"Is this a good idea?" You asked through the gasps as he nipped and sucked at your neck.

"Mhmm, giving me some mixed signals here." he mumbled against your skin before pulling away, his mouth inches from yours. "I think it's a fucking great idea. Don't you?"

“I'm not sure.” You confessed. Joel cupped your cheek with his hand and stroked your cheek with his thumb, his eyes soft, even if still full of lust. Was this a good idea? He'd spent weeks ignoring you, and it felt like Hell — but the way he kissed you, the way he touched you; it felt like Heaven.

"I don't care if it's a good idea or not." You replied, and Joel grinned.

"Good," he replied, "Because you have no idea how much I need you right now."

"Then show me." You said, and Joel growled before he pressed his lips against yours and instigated another passionate kiss, illicting a moan from you. He picked you up and dropped you onto the counter, spreading your legs so he could step in between them.

The kiss was messy, teeth and tongues clashing together as both sets of hands roamed each other's bodies. Joel's hands cupped and massaged your breasts as yours unbuttoned his jeans, using your heels to push them down his legs. One hand trailed a path from your breast to your stomach, dancing around the place you needed him the most.

"No panties, huh?" He said into your mouth, his finger tracing a path up your slit so gently, it was like he was using a feather. "I never would've known you were such a slut." His finger grazed your clit, and he grinned as you bucked your hips.

"Maybe if you'd acknowledged my existence, you might have found out earlier." You replied, grabbing his bulge through the fabric and squeezed, tight. Joel gasped into your mouth as he thrusted into your hand, and it was your turn to smirk against his mouth. If he could tease you, you could do the same, you thought as you slipped your hand into his boxers, relishing the feeling of his cock in your grasp.

Joel growled, his hips bucking before he shoved two fingers inside you without warning. A yelp mixed with a moan slipped from your mouth as you threw your head back, and Joel groaned. He kept his pace up, pushing his fingers in and out of you, feeling your walls clench around them as he watched your face contort with pleasure, your moans echoing throughout the kitchen. Not even his fantasies could have prepared him for how incredible this felt. If using just his fingers made him — made you feel this good, he couldn't wait to use his cock.

But he would wait. For weeks, you had — albeit unknowingly, driven him to the brink of insanity. Clouded his mind so he couldn't focus on anything; which is why he didn't notice the threat today, which almost cost you your life. So now, he had to drive you insane in the only way he could.

He dropped to his knees and pulled you by your legs so you were hanging off the counter. He then hoisted your legs over his shoulders, and you watched Joel as he studied your cunt — the look in his eyes resembled one of a wild animal, one that was finally allowed out of its cage, to roam free as its right. Yet, he was biting his lip; almost like he was holding onto that last tiny bit of control he had left. But you wanted — no, you needed the wild animal, and so you tangled your fingers into his hair. He looked up at you, locking eyes as he let you guide his head to where you needed him to be.

Shivers ran down your spine as his beard tickled you as he dragged his tongue over the skin on the inside of your thighs. Once again, he touched every piece of you, but not where you needed.

“Joel,” you whined, the grip on his hair getting tighter as you bucked your hips, "Please." You begged.

“Oh baby, you're already so wet.” he tutted, his finger running through your folds and teasing your entrance before he lifted it to your mouth and pushed it between your lips. “Your pretty pussy is glistening for me.”

You tasted a hint of your juices as you wrapped your tongue around his finger, keeping your gaze on him as you did. He groaned, imagining how good your mouth would feel wrapped around his cock. He pulled his finger out, and you gasped when he pushed it inside you. When he flicked your clit with the tip of his tongue, you gasped and arched your back. “Oh shit, fuck, Joel.”

Every sense was heightened as Joel flattened his tongue and lapped at you. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head when he swirled his tongue around your clit. You pushed yourself against him, practically hanging off the counter, making Joel grab your ass with both hands as he buried his face into you. With his beard grazing against you and his tongue pushing you further to release, your thighs gripped his head. Every single part of you was on fire as his assault on your cunt continued, and you could feel your orgasm brewing.

So could Joel, which was apparent as his pace got quicker, bringing in his fingers to help finish the job. With his thumb circling your clit and his tongue deep inside you, you reached your climax, Joel's name spilling from your mouth. As you threw your head back, grinding yourself against his face; you saw stars, all while Joel kept up the relenting pace.

He finally pulled away and stood up, grinning as he leaned towards you. His beard was glistening, and when he kissed you, you could taste yourself on him, mixing with the wine you had with dinner. Joel hooked his arms under your legs and scooped you off the counter; carrying you fireman style out the kitchen, through the sitting room and into the bedroom, where he dropped you on the bed. He crawled on top of you and dipped his head to kiss you. It was a soft, sweet kiss, one that you didn't want to end, so when it did, you whimpered, and Joel smiled softly.

“You still wanna do this?” He whispered. “We can stop if you want to.”

You leaned up on your elbows and gave him your answer with a kiss. He pressed his palm on your cheek and deepened the kiss, pushing you back down as he did. The two of you made out like two teenagers, and you could feel Joel's cock hardening against you. You slipped your hand in between your bodies and gripped his cock, rubbing the head against your entrance. Joel groaned, his head falling into your shoulder. He bit down as you pushed his cock inside yourself, your moans harmonising, the sensation almost too much.

Joel took over, grabbed your hands, and pinned them above your head. The animalistic look was in his eyes again, grunting with every thrust, his grip against your wrists tightening. You closed your eyes, and Joel growled.

“You thought about this while fucking yourself.” He said, his voice low. “Open your eyes and look at me while I fuck you.”

You opened your eyes and were met by Joel's big, brown ones that were now practically black. He fucked you harder, thrusting in and out as his thumb once again circled your clit. There was a ninety-eight percent chance that someone on the other side of the forest could hear everything, but at this moment neither of you cared. After weeks of awkwardness, of fantasising about each other while you touched yourselves, this felt right, like something had finally clicked into place — and you'd be damned if this was the first and only time it happened. Now you'd had a taste, you couldn't ever go back.

Joel picked up the pace, and you could once again feel your orgasm rising. You pulled Joel closer, your foreheads touching, your vision falling out of focus as you stared into Joel's eyes, but you refused to look away.

“Fuck, Joel, I'm so close” You whimpered, bucking your hips to meet his thrust, his cock hitting deeper each time you moved.

“If you keep doing that, I'm gonna -” Joel grunted, your synced thrusts getting faster. “Fuck, baby.” Joel moaned. “I'm gonna, shit -”

“Let go for me, Joel.” You whispered in his ear. “Come for me, and next time, I'll show you what I can do with my mouth.”

It only took a couple more thrusts before you and Joel finished together, and he slumped on top of you, breathing heavily. You lifted his head up, brushed his hair out his face, and smiled up at him, hearts practically in your eyes.

“So…” you said, and he reciprocated the smile. “Sooo…” He repeated.

“Are you going to be all weird with me again?” You teased, and Joel arched his eyebrow, a smirk dancing on his lips.

“I don't think so,” Joel replied, dipping his head for another kiss. “Especially if I want this to happen again.”

“Oh yeah? What makes you think we're doing this again?” You asked, and Joel grinned.

“Oh we're definitely doing that again.” Joel answered, and you giggled as he rolled off you and reached a blanket that was on a chair next to the bed. He flung it over the two of you before pulling you into his chest and pressing his lips against your temple. “I wanna know what you can do with that mouth.” He mumbled.

You giggled again, your heart fluttering as he linked his fingers around yours and kissed your knuckles. “Keep this up, and you'll find out.” You replied before a yawn slipped out.

“Alright you little tease, I think I can hold out until tomorrow.” Joel chuckled. “Right now, I think you need to sleep.”

You snuggled into Joel's chest, his fingers running through your hair. You never thought you'd be in this position, in bed with Joel Miller. You knew there was a lot more to talk about, but right now, you didn't care. You just focused on Joel's heartbeat under your head, on his fingers in your hair. Focused on how — even though there were still many dangers to staying in this cabin, it was still the safest you'd been in a long time.

The last thing you heard as you drifted into a peaceful sleep was a quiet confession from Joel; one you weren't sure you were actually meant to hear. “I'll always keep you safe. Even if it means giving my life.”

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #the last of us fic #tlou fic #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal #smut writing #my writing*

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tremendum · 8 months

Text

Mr. Miller's Show

[not my gif] pairing: joel miller x fem!reader (afab, some use of she/her, use of the words girl/woman) rating: explicit. (18+. mdni.) word count: 7.3k (back to regularly scheduled programming) requested: yes thank you all for all the patience srsly <3 summary: “'like how sweet you've been t'me, sugar," he mutters gently, head tilting, "why y'gonna go and fuck all that up now?'" warnings: gendered words (girl, woman, etc) allusions to PTSD, porn with feelings, guys theyre like getting healthier, SMUT (PiV unprotected), oral (M receiving), deepthroating, rough sex, face-fucking, shower smut, counter smut, reader is a tease, masturbation (f), marijuana use as always lol, brief voyeurism, canon-typical violence, age gap (undefined but mentioned), ass play (spitting, fingering, only a bit sorryyyy), mirror sex again bc im a whore, reader has hair long enough to grab, hair pulling, lots of choking, spit kink, light slapping (f receiving, consensual), dirty talk, praise kink but also degradation, use of words like slut, brat tamer!joel, overstimulation, MEAN!JOEL YALL, but he has feelings so he’s also kinda soft!dom in this again, once again sooo unedited that it hurts. notes: finally finally after over a month im back!! hope you enjoy this chapter, ive been having rough writers block with this story so any suggestions and requests are very welcomed!!! thanks for all the love and as always, comments & reblogs w tags are motivation and help out so much!!! love u all <3 also for the taglist, it's too big now and i may consider stopping my taglist, just letting everyone know!!! ill lyk if i do ofc but im reblogging with the list this time.

[this is part six of the Mr Miller series. read previous part sympathy for the devil. main masterlist here. ]

★

"you're wearing earrings."

Joel's voice cuts through the serene chill in the air, shocking you enough to have your head turning away from where you stare ahead - you crane your neck too much, but you can just see the dusted gray and dark of his curls behind you as your brows raise.

it takes you a second to understand the sentence he's just uttered to you out of nowhere- but you blink to life, clearing your throat as the dead trees pass you by.

"oh. yeah, it's... they're new. didn't really wear stuff like that until..." you shrug, trailing off as you stare forward yet again. your heart thumps as his chest rumbles against your back - jesus, he's so close to you. it's been weeks since he's been this close, even if this is just work.

your body wants what it wants, you suppose.

your lips purse, lost in the press of his thick body behind you.

"-till?"

your lip twitches in a smile for a split moment; he's waiting for you to finish your sentence. as if he cares.

Joel...

he's been so normal recently. or as normal as you could ever imagine Joel Miller to be; full sentence-conversations full of questions, full sentences, and even an occasional joke or dry line littered in with his glares and eye-rolls. he's even taught you and ellie to woodwork, nodded in hello when you picked up Ellie on your way into town - hell, he'd actually gotten a drink with you after patrol a few days ago and held eye contact for a whole thirty minutes.

a fucking miracle.

and even, on rare occasions, you are rewarded with that mind-splitting, earth-shattering smile - a very rare but rewarding sight. the kind that shocks a room, silences you and Ellie both, lights the sun and makes the birds sing. makes your stomach flutter.

so perhaps things have changed.

it makes you almost laugh to yourself, recalling that day so many moons ago when you had walked into the Bison and first stared into those stony eyes; how big his calloused hands were, the way his lip lifted in distaste at your crass words.

the sway of the horse makes your hips move gently; your ass is starting to feel sore at the constant motion and as you rock forward with the decline of the hill, you feel Joel's body slide slightly as though he tries against everything to press fully against you. even though you wish he would.

heat paints your face as you feel his breath on your neck, waiting patiently for you to finish your sentence.

your sharp breath exhales as you realize you've hesitated at his questioning, a bit too long - you smile sheepishly, shrugging. "-sorry, didn't..." you clear your throat, "couldn't remember the last time I wore earrings. not that it matters, but I just..." you thumb the makeshift earring back, grinning to the mane of the horse as he trudges you and Joel both along.

"-it feels nice. makes me feel like myself." you finish, shrugging awkwardly.

for all of the steps Joel has taken in the last few weeks to change, there are some things you still have a hard time with.

talking about yourselves and opening up is a very large, unmovable hurdle that you and him are still clearly trying to pull yourselves over. it's quiet for a second as your words seep into the dead surroundings, less than an hour from town.

"look nice." he grunts quietly, his arms pressing slightly from where he straddles the saddle behind your frame.

your eyes widen at the seemingly random compliment, face flooding with flattery and embarrassment. your grin betrays you, but you don't dare stutter out a broken thank you for fear that you will sound like a croaking frog; instead, you purse your lips over the giddy grin that spreads over your cheeks and hope that as he stares at the profile of your face, he can see the flattery written across your features.

"Ellie has a matching pair." you say instead, sparing a quick glance back at Joel. his brows raise, jaw ticking as he takes in the information - your voices both echo at the same time as you speak over each other suddenly:

"she doesn't have her ears pierced." "in case she ever gets them pierced."

you let out a short huff of laughter, nodding sheepishly at having accidentally interrupted each other; Joel shakes his head with a ghost of a smile.

"got it." he nods, "s'real nice of you." he nods, "making a pair for her, too."

his chest is right on you - broad, warm through all the layers, and smelling of pine, whiskey, sage. amber. it's intoxicating as his drawl rumbles in the back of your ear - you silently thank Tommy or whoever the hell it was who ordered half the horses to rest after a bout of sickness spread through the stable; sharing a horse has never once before today seemed like a good idea.

but the good idea sours quickly when you kick speed slightly, the horse leaping over a small creek as your hips shift back into Joel's and your ass presses into him.

your mouth dries as you shakily exhale; he's so close to you - smells so good. your hands grip the reigns tighter and you nearly jump when a large, calloused hand falls onto your hips to steady you after the change in pace.

your mind travels back to that morning after you'd stayed with Joel in his own bed - how gentle his hands had been as he'd guided you towards your own house under the early morning sunrise; your eyes bleary with sleep but his smile still cracking bashfully when you'd kissed his cheek, muttering about how maybe Ellie'd missed your boots by the front door when she'd come home.

she and Joel certainly haven't said anything you if she did notice, anyways.

you clear your throat, ignoring the searing desire that spirals from where his hand touches your clothed hip; you shrug, "she said she liked mine, so I figured we could match."

he hums lowly at your word, his nose brushing slightly over the crown of your head. shivers roll over your shoulders as you swallow, retreating into the silence that you've lived in for the last few weeks since the two of you were put back on patrol.

but you stiffen when a hand runs down your side, over the jagged stitching of your jacket, and you suck in a sharp inhale. his other hand slides forward, hooking gently around your hip, fingers splaying over the very top of your thigh and your throat dries up; a faint desire awakened and soon screaming at you. you squirm under his touch.

Joel's hips adjust behind you gently in the next second, your eyes fluttering shut as you imagine him pulling you into him, his hard cock sliding between the round globes of your ass and through your dripping folds, his hands greedy and hungry; his words sharp, teasing. his touch, sweet. intoxicating-

your eyes open again and your heart skips a beat, his knees hitting the outside of your thighs.

christ. your whole body tingles as you shift slightly, rotating your hips as the buck of the horse's cant tilts you further away from the heat of his broad chest. no, you can't stand his teasing - intentional or not, Joel is making you nearly melt in desire.

jesus.

you're barely pulling the horse to the side of the path when, with barely a crane of his neck, Joel mutters, "the hell are y'doin?"

you suddenly pull the reins and mutter woah, slipping yourself off of the horse and onto the hard ground with a burning face, your lungs screaming for air as Joel protests.

"what-" he grunts as he pulls himself down from the stirrups, face etched with irritation and concern at your sudden evacuation, "is there an issue?"

you can hear the irritation in his voice and you sigh, shaking your head - your heart's thundering, face hot and surely laced with poorly-hid embarrassment. god, what the fuck is wrong with you? there's barely forty minutes back to Jackson, why couldn't you just suck it up for a few more torturous minutes until you could return home to your trusty drawer and hot shower?

"no." you snap, "no problem, Joel." your heart is thundering with surprise at his concern, eyes glaring daggers at him before shooting down towards the heat that nearly blisters on your forearm; his hand, warm and gentle, asking silently if you're okay. your eyes soften before you can school your expression - he reads you, as always, like his favorite novel.

his hand falls away gently, grazing your finger tips like the gentlest breeze on your face and it still surprises you.

"alright," he says softly, eyes searching your flustered appearance. "can we get back on the horse, then?" he asks - his voice is surprisingly patient, though his eyes are wary. irritated, but concerned.

you clear your throat, unable to contain yourself much longer. "we could- take a break."

his brows raise, tilting his head, "a break? we're nearly back. s'almost nightfall."

you shift your weight, avoiding the way his corded arms cross over each other, his frame towering over yours as you dully throb in arousal.

"you're-" you squeak, shaking your head, "you're fucking crowding me, and I need- fuck-" you groan, "just- just fuck off for a second, Joel." you snap, bursting in frustration, unsure how to just admit you are being driven fucking crazy with lust by his presence.

his head tilts, "fuck off?" his eyes are darker every second you stand, facing each other- "the hell's gotten into you?" he sounds offended, and your heart flips as you feel bad - you're trying, you're trying so hard to be normal around him, as he is with you - so one touch, one innocent adjustment of his hips and now you're freaking out on him again?

you need to get a grip, or at least be honest.

your face burns as his stern gaze rolls over each curve of your body; "Joel, you're driving me fucking crazy." you snap, glaring at him.

he looks shocked, hands flying out, "I barely said anythin' this whole goddamn day, how the hell am I still fucking this up?" he snaps back, irritated - his eyes incredulous as he stares down at you.

flames lick up your sides as you grind your teeth - his hair looks much more wavy with his curls today, and the green of his jacket it making the golden on his skin nearly glow; you nearly growl as you jump towards him. he's too much. too fucking much.

your hands lock on his shoulders, tugging yourself up towards his face as your lips fall against his.

the kiss is a shock to you both.

you're not sure what really compelled you to do it - the stubble over his sharp jaw, his hair, the way his thighs pressed against the outsides of yours just minutes ago, the way he pressed on about the earrings - whatever, it doesn't matter, because he's kissing you back and you're melting like butter over a campfire.

his lips press hard back against yours through his shocked inhale, surging against you in a dizzying haze of Joel.

but the kiss is seared away from your lips when Joel suddenly shoots his thick hand out, rising to grip hard at your throat, shoving you backwards.

it's more shocking than the sudden kiss - the speed in which he pulls back and pushes you hard backwards by his warm grip, causing flutters of arousal to course through your stomach.

you stumble in shock but he keeps his hold on you, passionate as he movers the two of you back. you're torn away from his warmth as he presses you with one hand on the small of your back and the other on the beating pulse of your throat - right against a tree, nudging you as he tilts his head down to your height once more.

he's back on you in no less than a split second; his heat swirling around the cold air, teeth nipping at your lip when you take a moment longer than he'd like to open your lips to his tongue. he groans against you, a warm and deep thing that you feel in your own chest as your hand slides up to his hair, tugging at the base of his neck.

the fingers around your throat flex and tighten in reaction to your own grip and the moan that rips from your throat sends his hips in a slow thrust against yours.

you've been desperate for his touch for fucking days - he's been walking on eggshells even after you'd spent the night with him a few weeks ago. he'd barely touched you, taking his time trying to make up for all the lost time you'd spent trying to rip each other's heads off instead of your clothes.

and sure, you don't know who you are with him still - nothing defined, and a lot of things still unspoken - but for the first time since this whole mess started, that doesn't bother you. there's not much anger, nor jealousy - just... Joel. and you.

it's not bad.

his lips leave yours as he breathes against your lips, "like how sweet you've been t'me, sugar," he mutters gently, head tilting, "why y'gonna go and fuck all that up now?"

his hand slips from your back lower, tugging you against his semi-hard cock as his fingers squeeze your ass. his hand lies just below your jugular, thumb soothing over your cold skin as his dark eyes glint with desire. you feel a rush of arousal pool between your legs as you raise your brows.

"-you need to stop fucking touching me like that when we're riding, Miller." you growl against his lips, staring back at him. you lean slightly to catch his lips with yours once again but he pulls back with a strong hand against your neck to stop you - teasing.

he tuts, "you need to learn how to use your words, sweetheart." he growls against you, teeth catching on your bottom lip.

you whimper at the sharp sting, chasing him as if you could steal a kiss. he tilts his head just out of reach, his hand pressing against you until your breath comes out slightly ragged; your pussy flutters as he squeezes, knee sliding against your clothed core.

"if you want it, ask for it, baby." he all but demands, hands rough against you, "can't just throw a fit every time you're aching for my cock, or else you'll be whinin' all goddamn day. how am I supposed to know-"

but there's a snap of a twig somewhere behind you and you both spring apart, straight as boards, hackles raised.

it's almost like deja-vu as you're both thrown from your stupor - ripping away, your voices cease as your hand flies to your hunting knife - in your peripheral, you see that Joel's slung around his rifle so quick you're almost impressed as you both stare to your left.

christ - just the fucking horse, tied to the tree. stepped on a twig.

you let out a shaky breath, hand falling onto Joel's chest as you almost wheeze out a relieved laugh. but your hand feels it, suddenly - you notice how stiff Joel is, even after you've both realized there's no threats.

his heart, thundering in his chest wildly. like a caged animal surrounded by a pack of wild, ravenous wolves; Joel's heart tries to scramble right out of his chest and onto the dead ground.

that feeling - the one that creeps around at night when you wake up with memories of that cabin, of those raiders - of your past, visions of Joel, surrounded by red. that feeling that creeps up, squeezing at your throat and banging on your chest.

he's feeling it, too.

it's not from arousal, though you can see enough of that in his eyes, in the way his lips part and ragged breaths puff into the air - no, not arousal.

fear.

your heart hammers similarly, you suddenly notice. your hand shakes as it hovers near your knife; his hands grip the rifle so tight the blood may burst forth from the roughened skin any second.

"hey," you whisper, suddenly worried to speak above any quiet noise. his eyes are sharp and his jaw clenched as he looks back at you, wild and alarmed.

as if he were ready to fight for his life and yours.

"let's go home," you whisper, thumb running over the shoulder of his jacket, muscles strained and still below the layers.

he snaps out of it, eyes falling to rake over you as if assuring that you're still in front of him in one piece. his hand finds yours on his chest, sliding it off - not unkindly; his hand squeezes yours before boosting you up onto the double saddle silently.

Joel insists on walking you back to your house; he's brooding, as normal, as you both trudge back from turning in your patrol log and tracking the mud from the stable through the quiet streets.

you don't speak about what happened in the woods - the kiss, nor the twig snapping, but you ache and as you walk, every brush of the backs of your hands send shooting sparks up your arm.

"damn it," he grunts under his breath as you lead him up your driveway. you lift a brow at him, silent prompt to explain his expletive.

he shakes his head, "s'nothin'. forgot Ellie said the water heater ain't workin', said she was stayin' with her friend Dina till I fix it. cold shower for me tonight."

you grimace; the air nips at your cheeks, you can't imagine a cold shower in this weather. you shrug, "use mine." you suggest, tilting your head. "no point in turning into an icicle, Miller, you're cold enough as is." you tease, sending him a small wink.

something in you wonders if the shower really is broken, or if he just can't bring himself to ask; not that you can blame him. you can't bring yourself to ask, either.

your heart flutters when Joel rolls his eyes but still trudges after you, through the entrance of your home. his eyes look just as tired as you feel but there's a spark to them, one that coaxes more warmth between your thighs.

you see his eyes catch on the partially-smoked joint put out on the ashtray on your kitchen table as you slide past it; you have a mind to grab it before you make your way up the stairs, pretending not to feel too hot when you feel Joel's eyes graze over the sway of your hips.

he showers first, you insist.

while he does so, you strip out of your clothes and into a more comfortable sleeping shirt and shorts. you sit, smoking lazily on the joint, savoring the sharp herbal taste as it flows into your blood and trying to ignore the throbbing desire when the sound of the shower shuts off.

Joel's respectful when he leaves your bathroom, pants on and shirt tugged over his chest, speckled with dots of moisture. his hair is much darker and more curled just after a shower; you're transfixed as you stand in front of him, joint smoldering between your lips, an exhale of smoke swirling lazily from your nostrils.

"may I?" he asks suddenly, causing you to nod, pulling the joint out from your lips and noting how his own dark eyes follow it like a horse to a carrot; you smirk, tutting. "and to think, all this time you've been judging me for it?" you shake your head. "shame on you."

his jaw ticks and you just smirk, shaking your head as you hold the joint up to his lips boldly. "you're a bad influence on me, aren't you, Mr. Miller?" you ask, voice sultry as you peer up at him through your lashes. his eyes flick to yours as he inhales, your fingers ghosting over his plush lips. the ones you kissed not an hour earlier.

the air is thick in your room, steam from the hot water creeping through as Joel inhales the weed, ember lighting up your eyes in his. you leave the joint between his parted lips, opting to strip down as you walk towards the shower, hoping Joel had the mind to watch as you go.

your heart thuds in arousal and excitement when you hear his sharp exhale, still refusing to turn around as you leave the door slightly open once again. you and your innocent habit of leaving the bathroom door open when you shower.

you're relieved there's some fog over the glass door of the shower, but you take your time cleansing your hair, running soap over your face and then slowly, slowly lathering up your skin.

you can feel him watch the entire time.

his eyes are like a hawk's; you can see his shadow through the light of the bathroom, the ember of your joint glowing occasionally as your hands run over the wet planes of your skin.

your shaky fingers cascade down, over the skin of your stomach, lower until they just barely graze where you ache. it's like he's been waiting for you to finally start to touch yourself; just as your fingers find your slit, the amber of the joint is tamped, ashed on the windowsill.

you hum lowly as your fingers swirl through your velvet folds, so wet you're dripping onto your upper thighs as your head thumps against the wall.

"Joel," you let yourself whimper, eyes fluttering shut before opening again languidly.

Joel's footsteps are gentle as he slowly strides up to you; he lasted, admittedly, longer than you through this torturous game. through the glass, you see his tall frame and your legs quiver with desire - your aching cunt throbs as you move your hand over yourself, rinsing off the rest of the suds from your clean body as your fingers tease your bundle of nerves. your hips jolt; a choked moan from you as you slide the glass open slightly, cocking your head - "it's a shame you already showered," you mutter, fingers not ceasing as Joel's eyes rake over your naked for ravenously.

he leans on the doorframe to the bathroom, eyes stern as he takes in your silhouette through the fogged glass, slowly rolling over the curves of your body to meet your eyes with flames alit in his own.

"-it'd be nice to have some help." you shrug, gesturing to the bar of soap in your spare hand, eyes swimming with desire as your other hand continues the slow, torturous movements on your aching clit.

your eyes catch on his crotch; through the jeans, his cock is hard and straining already as if being stirred by just the sight of you, naked and whimpering for him in your shower.

"I know you've always liked a show, though, haven't you?" you tease, lifting a brow as you recall the night Joel'd first seen you shower.

his jaw ticks at your words but it's like something in his snaps; he wastes little time ripping his shirt off, his patience clearly gone as you bite your lip, stepping back for him as his jeans finally slide off.

his glowing, naked form crowds into your own as he slides into the shower with you. his eyes are sharp as his hand takes the soap from you; yet instead of running it over your skin like you'd hoped he would, he's tossing it to the side until it hits the wall of the shower and splinters into two.

you gasp slightly as his hand grips your neck, tugging you close. his cock is hard, tip glistening with beads of precum already as he presses to your lower stomach, his body glued to yours; his nose slides along the plane of your collarbone gently, the shower water pelting rolling off your meshed bodies like some sort of sick baptism.

"you smell clean, darlin'," he mutters against your kin, one hand sliding up to your scalp, threading through your hair. his tongue peeks out to lick a stripe up your throat. "taste clean, too-"

his hand tightens suddenly, tugging your hair until your head snaps up to him - his eyes are dark, face full of desire. "so why're you pretending you need my help?"

the condescension in his voice is intoxicating - your legs weaken, hands sliding up onto his hot skin under the water that cascades over him.

your throat dries as you swallow, eyes wide as a rush of arousal threatens to drip down onto your bare thighs.

his head tilts, "s'because you want to put on a show, 's that it?" he asks, voice condescendingly sweet as he once again tightens his grip. you whimper at the sweet feeling, nodding slightly.

he smiles against your neck before pulling away, "fine. you can give me a show. get on your knees." he hums, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. your head feels dizzy at the words he says and the sweetness of his kiss; the most delicious juxtaposition.

"a show." he chuckles to himself, shaking his head darkly. "gonna make you a goddamn star."

christ. your cunt squeezes around nothing, aching for him as his hands slide down to your shoulders. you nearly moan as he smirks, water cascading down his broad chest as he pushes you down; you sink to your knees, your wide eyes on his own as you move until you're close to his aching cock.

he stands, towering above you as the shower head sprays directly onto his back; water runs off the broad expanse of his chest and you follow the droplets as they smooth over his stomach, down over the sprinkling of hair that trails to the base of his dick. you swallow, heart thundering impatiently as you sit on your haunches, waiting anxiously for him to tell you what to do.

his brows raise, though, flush high on his cheeks from heat - or arousal - as he hums, "well?"

you blink at him in surprise as he shakes his head down at you, his own hand falling to pump his long cock in languid strokes, the skin so close to you that you can almost feel the heat. if you were to lean out, just a bit, to taste-

"christ, darlin' do I gotta tell you how to do everything?" he grunts, other hand cupping the back of your head, carding through your wet strands of hair as he tuts, "you were practically beggin' f'me earlier, now you're suddenly shy?"

your face blooms in heat, "no, sir, I just-" at your words, his eyes fall back and a groan echoes through your bathroom, "-just suck my cock, darlin' c'mon."

his impatience, desperation sends shivers down your spine and your mouth opens eagerly, tongue flattening as he slaps your tongue gently once, twice-

you're always surprised by the size of Joel - each time, it catches you off guard; the head of his cock breaches your lips and his pre-cum smears over your tongue; the taste of him has you keening forward, eager to feel him in you, filling you up.

"there you go, 's much better." he grunts, muttering as one hand slides around to hold your jaw. your eyes flutter up through your lashes and the falling shower water to stare at him, how big he is towering above you. his cock pushes into your warm mouth and you try your best to breathe through your nose, tongue sliding up the vein which reaches up towards his tip. his groan spurs you on and you gently start to bob your head, spit gathering at the sides of your mouth slowly as your knees press against the wet porcelain.

"you feel better like this, baby?" he mutters, your stomach tingling at his words. you can't nod - can't even make a noise as his hips slowly buck into you; you gag slightly and moan around his cock as it pushes to the back of your throat.

"fuck-" he grunts, one hand leaning forward to place against the wet shower tiles; he's crowding you, now, pressing you into the back of the shower as his body takes the brunt of the water and takes and takes from you.

anything Joel wants, he can fucking have it.

"that's it, sweetheart-" he grunts, "fuckin'- take me."

his hands grip yours, pulling them onto his thighs, muttering gently that if it's too much, you can slap his thigh; you nod, tears gathering at the corner of your eyes as you keen towards him again, hungry to feel him in your throat again.

your nails dig crescents into the meat of his thighs as he pushes your head right against the wall, fucking into your throat as his head tilts back. "tha's- right, look at you." he grunts, his lips parted as groans fall from his lip. the steam rises like tendrils from hell as you take Joel's length in your mouth, barely able to breathe in the most delicious way as he uses you. your spit trails over your chin and onto your bare chest as you stare up at him. one hand soothes over your forehead, wiping wet strands of hair plastered to your forehead, "you're a fuckin' star, baby."

you heat at his words, stomach swirling as you shift uncomfortably, cunt puffy and aching for relief.

your fingers grip onto him as he takes you in the shower, fucking your throat until you're dripping and aching and a writhing mess, his moans echoing around the empty home.

"water's cold." he grunts, pulling his cock from your lips; you, weakly, chase the heat of him as he leaves your mouth, gasping for air and coughing slightly.

he shuts off the water, suddenly, and you swallow as he turns back to you, eyes significantly softer than they'd just been; "somethin' wrong?" he teases, a dark smirk on his face as his eyes flicker to where your thighs press together to soothe the ache.

you grit your teeth, shaking your head, "jus' want you to touch me, sir." you mutter, face burning at the way Joel never ceases to reduce you to a whimpering mess.

he smiles one of those brilliant, radiant smiles.

"that's all you had to say, darlin'." he shrugs, "told you, if you just learn to ask for it nicely, I'll give it to you."

you shiver as you nod, taking his hand as he pulls you up off your sore knees, wrapping a towel around your form gently. he's so- commanding, yet still somehow keeping his kindness that often hides deep beneath his layers.

you can't tear your eyes away, though - even as Joel starts to walk towards your open bedroom - your hand stops him on his naked shoulder. "will you please fuck me?" you ask, voice stronger than you'd expected it to be.

his eyes flicker with something as he tilts his head, "right here?" he lifts a brow as his hand snaked over your neck to pull you flush against him once again. "y'gonna beg me to fuck you against the sink because you're too desperate for my cock to walk to the bed?" he whispers it into the shell of your ear; a shiver as you whine, eyes blinking up at him, "been waiting all day, Joel, stop fucking teasing me."

you notice your mistake too late; his jaw tenses as he bites down at the junction of your neck - you let out a sharp, whining moan as his teeth mark a love bite bright and center on your skin. "fuck- fuck, s-sorry, sir." you groan, eyes clenching shut in pleasure as his hands push you into the counter.

"bet you're fuckin' sorry." he mutters lowly as he pulls away from you, flipping you quick to bend you over the vanity of the sink. you gasp as the cool wet porcelain hits your breasts, your nipples hard and sensitive as a sharp smack lands on your ass.

"christ," he groans as you bend over, puffy lips soaked and glistening for him, "look at this pretty pussy."

you move your hips slightly and his hands grip onto your waist - "quit that." he snaps, hands resuming their exploring. he grazes over the backs of your thighs, up the expanse of your spine.

over your ass, groping and slapping, relishing in your small moans and sharp gasps. "don't move." he orders.

you sigh, head falling onto the sink as you nearly whimper - you're aching, throbbing as Joel teases you - "Joel," you whimper quietly, voice whiny and small.

"what's wrong, y'tired of being teased?" he asks, voice dripping with sadistic pleasure. your cheeks are hot as you groan, "please, need to feel you inside of me-"

he hums, smacking the flesh of your ass, "'f I don't warm you up you'll be sore, baby-" he tuts, "y'know I gotta get you ready."

"I don't care, I can take it- I like it, just-" you stutter, face heated as you nearly scream in frustration, unable to voice how badly you just want him inside of you.

he likes that - a thumb sliding over your cunt to spread your lips, exposing your pussy and ass to him as he hums. "too fuckin' eager, have to have my cock right now, 's that right?" he shakes his head with a dark smirk, hand teasing over your swollen lips as he nods, "yeah, s'alright, I'll give it to you whenever you ask."

"thank you," you wheeze, letting out a shaky sigh when Joel leans down, spitting directly onto your asshole, thumb sliding over the tight ring as he hums, "so desperate for me, couldn't even wait 'till we get back to town, could you? had to try an' fuck me right there in the woods." he doesn't wait for you to respond as he spits down again, this time the slick spit sliding down onto your seeping cunt. his hand leaves, replacing with the thick, teasing head of his cock.

you gasp, rising on your toes as the blunt tip of his dick spreads your cunt, teasing your clit before notching at your entrance. "gonna fill up every hole tonight, baby, y'gonna let me?"

you let out a whine, "fuck, yes, please." you nod, cunt fluttering around the tip of his cock.

the stretch is painful; you expected it, craved it - you let out an animalistic moan when he slides in a few inches. "oh-" you whimper, legs tensing as Joel kneads the flesh of your ass, pressing his bare chest to your spine as he mouths along the base of your neck, "relax, baby, so fuckin' tight-" he groans as he slides in slowly, "let me in, sweetheart, c'mon-"

a rush of arousal and he's fully seated within you, the sting of his cock in you subsiding as a growing desire mounts until you can't take it. "move- m-move, now, please." you rush, hips pushing back against Joel's impatiently.

"shit," Joel hisses as he pulls out of you slightly - a long, thick drag against your velvety cunt and you groan at the sweet bliss of being filled up. you moan as he thrusts forward, tip hitting the perfect spot that already, as his pace builds, has a simmering coil deep within you.

"thought- thought about it all day," you admit, hands finding purchase on the counter as he starts to fuck into you, your tits sliding as they press against the sink. "on the horse, thought abo-" you moan sharply as his thumb grazes over your asshole, spreading the slick and his spit around the tight ring. "fuck, sir- that feels good." you moan. he groans in response and the words fly from your lips - "you drive me crazy, so big, t-touching me all the time. dream about you filling me up- s-stuffing me full, even out in the woods-"

your words are too much for Joel, apparently, because his hand slaps over your mouth and his voice whispers, "sh-shut the fuck up, darlin', y'needa be quiet or I'm gonna finish before this even starts." he grunts, hips snapping into yours as he picks up the pace.

you whimper at his words, arousal gushing from you and coating his cock in your slick; the wet slapping of your bodies echoing through the bathroom. "fuck-" he drags out the word, fingers sliding over your lips to prod at your mouth, "here- suck, darlin' - there you go, good girl, that's right."

your tongue slides over his fingers, eyes fluttering closed as you feel his thumb breach your tight hole; a sudden rush of pleasure runs through you as it hits you - Joel's everywhere. he's filling you completely - his thumb slowly fucks your tight ring of muscle as his cock spears your cunt; his fingers, pressing down on your tongue as you whimper and moan around him.

a groan leaves his full lips; "fuck- look at me." he grunts, hand sliding up your throat to pull your jaw towards your reflection. "look at me, baby-" his fingers slide back into your mouth as your eyes meet the fire in his through the mirror.

"always tell me when you feel like this, 'kay?" he asks, brows stern as he rams his hips into you; his thumb fills you and fucks into you at a slower speed than his cock, sending searing pleasure through your entire body.

your flesh moves at the impact of his hips and you cry out as his cock hits the delicious spot inside you that curls your toes. his thumb slips from your ass and you whimper dejectedly; the full feeling subsiding slightly as his hand grips your tits, pinching your nipple as he hums in your ear. "don't want my pretty little slut feeling so needy all the time, right?" he mutters, nosing at your hair as he fucks into you with no abandon. your fingers clench to the sides of the sink as you let out a strangled, "yes, sir-"

"so if you use your words, I'll give you anything you want." he groans, hand smacking your ass as the other squeezes your jaw. you nod, agreeing with his words though his cock has rendered you nearly speechless. he hums in approval before muttering, "now you're goign to play with your clit until you cum."

you let your eyes roll back at the commanding tone as your hand snakes down to rub tight, blisteringly pleasurable circles over your bundle of nerves.

but it's immediately too much so soon; you're already so close to your orgasm that a jagged gasp falls from your lips, jumping at the feeling.

"no, 's too much," you moan, head falling back as your finger teases your clit, flames of pleasure licking up isnide you.

but Joel smirks, "why're you still doin' it, then?" he teases, cock hitting so deep and bruising that you think you may see stars.

you moan out, "w-wanna cum, wanna make you happy, Joel." you whimper, completely forgetting to call him sir; but you feel his brows furrow as a moan ripples from his lips - "y'makin' me real happy right now, darlin', look at you. fucked out on this old man's cock, doin' whatever I say, desperate and willing. you're perfect, aren't you?"

you shiver in pleasure at his praise, fingers shaking as you rub your clit, trying so hard not to ruin your orgasm by cumming too soon. his cock spears into you at a pace that will certainly bruise your hips; your breath is punched out of you, your gasps and moans painting the air.

"say it, baby." he orders, hand stroking your breast a staunch contradiction to his brutal pace. "tell me how perfect you are for me."

you wail, head falling back onto his broad, thick shoulder as he runs his mouth over your shoulder, nipping as he goes. you're out of breath - "p-perfect, I'm perfect for you Joel, fuck, don't stop. so good, so good-" you mumble, fucked out after only a few minutes.

he hums, nodding into you. "taught you well, didn't I? you're my perfect little star."

you nod, "yes, sir, thank you-" you squeal in pleasure as he strokes long and slow, pushing you nearly to the brink as your legs shake. you can't take it, though - your fingers stop their ministrations, shaking and burning as you pull away from your clit, so close from just his cock and-

a slap to your cheek as Joel's lips bite into your jaw, "put your fuckin' hand back right now. you don't stop 'till I tell you to."

you swallow shakily, shaking your head, "I can't- it's too much, I can't-"

"fine." he snaps, slapping your cheek again before one hand slips to grip hard at your shoulder, lifting one of your legs up onto the sink; his other hand snakes down to pinch your tortured clit and you scream as he grunts in your ear, "I'll do it myself."

he's unforgiving on your quivering cunt, barely able to stay upright as he pushes you down, your cheeks pressing to the cool counter as he pounds down into you, shooting you into a hurtling race towards your orgasm.

he brutally fucks into you in a blinding pace. you nearly scream as white-hot pleasure rips through you, your hands falling to the counter as he coaxes a mind-bending orgasm from you. you see white as you cum, pulsing and writhing over his cock as it spears into you, splitting you open.

"that's it, baby-" he lets out a loud moan, biting into your neck as he continues the brutal pace, "jesus- s'fucking tight, baby, can barely move-" his hands fall to your hips, using you as a fuck toy to finish himself off; you're still writhing with the ecstasy of the orgasm, relishing in the way his hands hold you.

"where're you gonna take me, baby?" he grunts, voice strained: he's so close.

you scramble, holding his hips as you nearly pass out - pleasure too much. "cum on my ass, please sir." you mutter, heat licking up your throat as the words come out.��

he moans and pulls out of you suddenly, hand flying from your skin to his cock, a slick noise as he quickly tugs himself until hot spurts of his cum paint the skin of your ass. "pretty girl," he grunts to himself, "an' you're all mine."

you hum, moaning quietly as his thumb soothes over your skin, spreading his cum over your ass and pressing it slightly against your ass. your cunt flutters in arousal at the action and he hums, "y'like that, don't you, pretty girl?"

you nod as you let out a shaky sigh and he presses a kiss to your spine, "good." it's a whisper on your skin, a promise.

he's barely grabbed a towel to wipe his cum off your skin before you're turned around on jelly legs - his strong arms pull you in so fast you barely have a second to straighten out - he's nuzzling into your wet hair in a way that has your heart thumping and your throat dry.

his heart beats against your cheek, body warm, chest heaving along with yours.

heat, affection - they swirl in your chest as his bare body cradles yours. intimately.

your sweet skin is sticky with sweat when Joel comes to, out of the bliss of his and your orgasms.

he's just as sweaty as you, though the clean skin and foggy mirror have started to clear up. Joel nearly huffs a short laugh at the thought of taking yet another shower - christ knows the two of you are once again filthy - but he kind of likes it, in a way. a secret.

he brushes it off when he feels your fingers curl around his arm; he had barely noticed that he'd tugged you upright and right into his chest, holding you as tight as he could. for some reason, his mind reaches back to earlier in the evening, when he'd heard that branch - the fear, the panic that'd risen in him. he's not sure why, or at least, he won't think about it. you hadn't mentioned it, but he'd seen your hands shake and your eyes cloud with fear.

something for another time, because he has you warm and pliant and naked in his arms. he barely noticed how his lips press at your hairline; it's just... well, feels natural.

like you both need it.

"stay here, please." you ask meekly, quietly. the first words spoken in a minute; you're swallowing around the nerves and anxiety that crawl in your chest, he can tell. he feels them, too.

he's taken aback as he stares at you - you both have patrol again in the morning, is it not... aren't you going to get tired of him?

won't you find him annoying, or gross in the morning when he inevitably pulls you closer in his sleep, when the dreams are too real and he shoots up in bed?

the panic subsides as he stares into your warm eyes, hopeful, bashful. he smiles gently, biting through the smile in embarrassment at how willing he is to stay. he'd stay forever if you asked.

Joel nods through his surprise, though, his body and heart and head aching to lie with you once again, to feel the calmest sleep he's had in years.

"course, darlin', I'll..." he pulls you in closer, so he doesn't have to look at those damn eyes when he finally admits it -

"I'll stay as long as you want."

feedback welcome as always :') <3

#let's chat abt mr miller #joel tlou smut #joel miller x reader smut #joel miller x you #joel miller the last of us #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel smut #joel x reader #joel tlou #the last of us x reader #the last of us (tv)#the last of us smut #pedro pascal smut

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lively-potter · 3 months

Text

— nepenthe ; jjk

@lively-potter

— synopsis ;

in which solaris celeste vesper, a sad girl with an unfortunate upbringing meets a man far older than her and, within his presence, her sorrow fades into nothingness.

Also in which jeon jungkook finds the sun he so desperately needed in his life.

— genre ; age gap, they both fall but he falls harder in the beginning, angst, fluff, guaranteed HEA, CEO jungkook, mafia/gang vibes ( kinda/sorta )

— disclaimer ;

2024 © @LivelyPotter

You may not reproduce,

distribute/and or adapt

any part of this work

without my permission

I only own my original characters and the plot.

— warnings ;

violence, blood / gore, descriptive abuse, mature language, mature themes, fluff, angst, age gap. the MFC has been sheltered her entire life — and due to that, keep in mind she will have a slight childlike innocence. She cries a lot in the beginning ( and if you went though all the shit she did, you would too, as I won’t hear any complaints )

— playlist ;

— greedy ; tate mcrae

— yes or no ; jungkook

— closer to you ; jungkook

— somebody ; jungkook

— hate you ; jungkook

— lost ; BTS

— my time ; jungkook

— serendipity ; jimin

— stigma ; taehyung

— MAMA ; j-hope

— please don't change ; jungkook

— fever ; enhyphen

— spring day ; BTS

— love me again ; v

— mmmh ; kai

— after like ; Ive

— blood sweat & tears ; BTS

— lilac ; iu

— extra info ;

started ; January 19th, 2023

posted ; January 21st, 2023 ( on Wattpad )

completed ;

edited / revised ;

— extra info for those not familiar with the academy series by c.l. stone ;

I know I'm gaining more readers, those who aren't familiar with the academy, so I'll do a short explanation of what you'll be seeing from the academy!

In short, the academy series is a reverse harem/polyamory series set in Charleston, South Carolina.

( so you'll be seeing multiple men date the same women in this book, so don't be shocked lmfaoo ) most of this won’t happen until we are well into the story — but I’d hate to confuse all of you! I’d like every single one of you to enjoy and understand the story completely!

The academy ( that MFC won't be much involved or at all ) is basically a top secret organization that specializes in helping men, women, and children who are in an abusive relationship or homes and help them get out of that — most join the academy to help others in the same situations.

There are teams that work together and are basically a family in all but blood; and "family is a choice".

The men in teams are referred to as "dogs" and the female team members are referred to as "birds".

'Ghosts', whether birds or dogs, are children without much history to their names. They are priceless to the Academy.

The Academy's system works on a series of favor and financial debt. Everyone in the Academy starts out with financial debt. It's the value of the education an Academy student requires to become the best at what he does. If it was a private investigation training class or an eight-week boot camp, or you were starving and needed groceries to get through a human biology class, the Academy took care of it. Your debt can't just be paid off directly, it requires completing various Academy missions. Whatever it is, there is a price tag.

Favors though are the real core of the Academy. Favors are anything that doesn't have a price - usually family problems within the Academy that other members can't handle alone. New members owe ten favors immediately, with the maximum owed being thirty. The value of a task in favors varies depending on the task.

All Academy trials are comprised of the same parties: the whole team, plus five randomly selected members from other teams, presided over by a manager who has collected all the data. There is no age minimum for the randomly selected members, the only requirement is that they had to be past initiation and a full member of the Academy. The ultimate goal at a trial is to keep the family together as much as possible.

Each team has two leads. The first is the main contact for the Academy, they track the jobs the members go on, and let them know what jobs are available. The second is the family lead, who keeps track of all the team members, and makes sure that everything runs smoothly for them - ensuring they have food, bills are paid on time, and everyone that needs a job has one.

Most of this information is from the academy wiki site ( 'cause it's fuckin' complicated to explain it all )

but I want you all to be able to understand it enough to enjoy the story without being confused!

Most of the time, I'll explain through River and my other characters.

I hope this makes sense!

River won't be very involved in the academy, but there will be mentions and most of River's story revolves around, not only Jungkook and Moon, but River's brothers, friends, and family!

Please let me know if there is anything that you'll misunderstand and I'll explain to the best of my ability!

✨ HAPPY READING ✨

— find me on Wattpad at @/LivelyPotter! The first two chapters of Nepenthe are already out!

Also, do any of you mind giving me some pointers on how to post more aesthetic chapters or a master list on here?? I’m so lost and new to this app! 😂😂😭

#jungkook x oc #jeon jungkook #jjk #bts fanfic #jungkook fanfic #jungkook smut #jungkook x original character #bts jungkook #jungkook #bangtan #bangtan sonyeondan #jungkook fluff #soft girl #pinkcore #jeon jungguk

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rollingsins · 11 months

Text

all hers, part xviii

summary: R and the Scooby-gang put into place their Ghostface trap.

warnings: (+18), Tara is Ghostface, violence, murder.

word count: 2.1k

a/n: thought it was time for the GF reveal! were you right? wrong? idk, let me know!

You make it to the school in the passenger seat of Sam’s car without speaking the entire journey.

You feel hollow. Like the world is crumbling around you, and Sam must feel it too. Her grip on the wheel is tight, sturdy, like she knows exactly what she has to do now.

What you both have to do now.

Get him. Kill him. For Tara.

Mindy’s waiting outside the school when you pull up.

She peers into the backseat, looking for Tara, looking a little confused when she can find her.

“Where’s Tara?” Mindy asks.

Sam brushes her off.

“Change of plan. Tara isn’t coming. It’s just us.”

Mindy’s eyes widen.

“Sam,” She says, voice slow. Her eyes dart to you, “We can’t do this without Tara.”

“Tara isn’t coming,” Sam stresses, “And we need to do this. For Tara, do you understand?”

Mindy blinks. She fidgets with her phone.

“I’m going to call her first and check.” She eyes you, no doubt terrified of the consequence if something were to happen to you. Tara isn’t shy about her love for you, and she certainly isn’t shy about what would happen to anyone who ever hurt you.

“She’s been arrested,” You say, voice impatient, “She won’t pick up. The only way to help her is to catch this guy.”

Mindy gawps.

“She’s been arrested?”

“There’s no time,” Sam says, urgently, “Mindy, come on. YN, go to detention.”

She puts her hands on your shoulders, squeezes tight.

“And good luck.”

The plan is so stupidly simple, yet there are about a hundred ways it can go wrong.

You run through them on your way to detention, mind whirling, barely having the strength to put one foot in front of the other.

Firstly, the band of so-called Ghost-face protectors is possibly the worst collaboration of people in the entire school to do the job. Chad’s a meathead. Liv, his ditzy companion. Mindy is all ludicrous theories and useless horror film knowledge, and you’re either so small or so weak your hundred pound, five foot one girlfriend can put you on your back without so much as breaking a sweat.

Your only saving grace, it seems, is Sam.

You’d left her with Mindy, shotgun in hand, dressed in a tank top and a pair of old ripped jeans, looking very much like she’s about to rip through a horde of zombies, rather than take on a single Ghostface.

The only bright side to this awful situation is you no longer have to worry about Tara at the end of Ghostface’s knife. But the alternative - Tara locked in a jail cell for the rest of her life, is almost as bad.

Principal Garcia greets you, looking very much like he’d rather be anywhere else on his Saturday off. Sam had called ahead about Tara and he either doesn’t care, or can’t be bothered to ask how she is.

Instead, he sits at the front of the classroom, peering down at a newspaper through his spectacles as you settle into the front desk, nervously tapping your foot against the ground.

Your eyes draw to the clock on the wall.

The quiet click. The sound of Principal Garcia flipping his newspaper every now and then. Your heart is in your throat and it’s pounding so loud it drowns out almost everything else.

This has to work.

It if doesn’t - you’re fucked.

You look behind you, to the closets lining the back of the room and pray Chad and Liv are already in there. You have one of Sam’s handguns in your backpack. You keep it on your lap, resting your hand on it, needing it close.

Minutes pass.

Ten. Twenty. Thirty.

No sign of Ghostface.

Your eyes glance up at the clock once more.

You swallow. Start to think maybe this entire foolhardy plan is all for nothing.

And then you see it.

Through the crack of glass in the door, the bone-white of the mask. The long, black mouth. The hood. And before you can so much as cry out - Ghostface is ramming into the classroom, his knife raised.

You scream.

Principal Garcia’s head jerks around.

Ghostface’s movements are steady, calculated. He rushes forward and in one easy swing, he slashes his knife towards Principal Garcia and slashes through his raised forearm.

“Sam!” You cry out.

Ghostface’s head whips around to look at you. Principal Garcia crumbles to the ground, gasping, holding his bloodied arm.

The cabinets burst open.

Chad and Liv stumble out. Chad lets out what can only be described as a war-cry and charges forward, taking Ghostface off guard and tackling him to the ground.

You stand, hands shaky as you reach for the pistol in your backpack. You click the safety off and raise it. Chad has Ghostface pinned down. The knife in his hands clatters to the ground.

You squint, heart pounding as you try to find the shot. But their bodies are entwined, Chad’s grip on Ghostface lessening slightly as Ghostface juts his head upwards and smacks it into Chad’s.

Chad cries out.

Ghostface musters the strength to shake Chad off.

You fire out a shot.

But your grip isn’t steady. Your aim all over the place. The bullet whizzes past Ghostface and lodges itself into the blackboard.

Ghostface reaches for his knife and stands. He’s tall, menacing. He steps closer.

“Sam!” You cry out.

The mask tilts. The knife in his hands gleaming. He takes another step closer, confident. Like he knows you’ll miss again.

“Don’t come any closer, asshole.” Liv says. You feel her behind you, at your shoulder, “Shoot him, YN!”

You fire again.

And miss.

All those practices with your Dad. All those bottles you’d blown clean open have nothing on the real thing. The adrenaline is too much. The fear of him is too much.

“Where’s your girlfriend, YN?” He taunts. He flashes the knife, stepping closer once more. Another step and he’d be close enough to disarm you. You stumble back, gun in your hand shaking madly.

“Guess she’s finally getting what she deserves,” He says, “And now I’m going to give you what you deserve.”

The classroom door rams open once again.

It draws both of your attention. It’s Sam, Mindy at her side. Her shotgun is drawn, her eyes blazing.

“Back up asshole,” Sam says, voice even. Her hand isn’t shaking, she’s calm. Steady. You know she won’t miss.

“Take off that mask and I won’t blow you bit from bit,” She says. She moves a little closer.

If Ghostface knows he’s cornered, he doesn’t act like it. He turns from you like you’re not a threat, looks over to Sam and tuts at her.

“Sam, Sam, Sam.” Ghostface says, “So protective. Such a good sister. I wonder if you’d still protect her if you knew. If you knew what sweet baby-Tara did in her spare time.”

Sam cocks the gun.

“Last chance,” She growls, “I won’t ask again.”

The adrenaline in your body evens out. Your heartbeat slows, the determination in your eyes settles. You steady your hands, knowing what you have to do.

Sam wants him alive. Sam wants him to see justice.

But if he’s alive, he can talk.

If he’s alive he’ll tell everyone what Tara’s done. And you can’t have that.

You lift your gun, only slightly. You close one eye, the way your Dad had taught you.

You feel ethereal. Out of body. This is what Tara must feel like when she does it. Vision tunneled, like there’s only one thing in the world you want to do.

And then you shoot a bullet right into Ghostface’s chest.

Liv screams.

The sound of the gun firing leaves your ears ringing.

Sam blinks, startled, as Ghostface stumbles back, clutching the bloodied hole in his chest.

He crumples to the ground, right next to Principal Garcia, gasping.

You charge forward, kicking the knife out of his hands.

There’s only one thing on your mind. You have to know who it is. You have to see his face before you blow it clean off.

You lean down and rip the mask off the fuckers face.

Liv gasps. Chad gawps.

Sam’s grip on the shotgun wavers.

You blink down in surprise.

It’s Richie.

His eyes are wild, hazy. Blood pours thick and fast out of the bullet wound in his chest. The look in his eyes is terrifying. Pure hatred, hatred of you. Hatred of Tara. His mouth opens like he wants to speak, but he’s too injured. He’s moments from death, you can see it in his face.

Sam almost drops her gun. She sinks back, caught only by Mindy who steadies her shoulders.

You swallow, mind racing.

All those nights with him, the games with him. He’d slept only doors down from you and Tara. Tara had been so insistent it was him and you hadn’t listened. Because it didn’t make sense.

Why?

He’s dead before he can give you an answer.

“Holy shit.” Chad murmurs. His hands grip Liv’s shoulders. He looks to you, wide-eyed, “Are you alright?”

There’s a frog in your throat. You clear it once, twice, unable to take your eyes off the man who had tormented you for the past few weeks.

“He didn’t get me.” You say. You suddenly remember Principal Garcia and look over to him. He’s clutching his arm, eyes as wide as everyone else's, but other than the gash, he looks okay.

“Sam,” You murmur, looking over to her.

Her face is white, no doubt her entire world crumbling around her.

“Sam, are you okay? We need to call the police.”

“They’re on their way,” Mindy says, rubbing Sam’s back, “I called them preemptively. Thought we might need them.”

You place your gun on one of the desks, move over to where Sam is sitting. You crouch down, rest your hands on the tops of Sam’s thighs.

“Sam,” You say, “It’s over. It’s going to be okay. This is going to save Tara.”

Sam blinks back at you but she’s barely there. She looks as though she might pass out.

“Sam,” You promise, “It’s over.”

The police arrive not five minutes later.

The Sheriff blazes through the halls, stares wide-eyed at Richie’s dead body, Ghostface mask clattered next to him.

They take your statements, one by one.

Mindy tells them in great detail about the plan to capture him. Principal Garcia is rushed off to hospital to treat his arm. Sam sits quietly, not uttering a word until she’s spoken to.

“My sister-” She says, voice hoarse. She’s blinking, slow, “You’re going to let her go now?”

The Sheriff pauses.

“It’s not that simple, Sam,” She says, “We have witnesses- she was the last person to see my son alive-”

“That doesn’t mean shit,” Snaps Sam. She gestures to Richie’s body, “We’ve given you him. Clear as day. He framed my sister and you need to let her go.”

Sheriff Hicks considers this.

She looks over at Richie’s body, a little mournful, “If you’d kept him alive we could have interrogated him and cleared Tara’s name for good-”

“It was self-defense.” Liv says, immediately, “He came at YN and the only way she could protect herself was by killing him. Right guys?”

Mindy and Chad nod in unison.

Sheriff Hicks stares at you.

“Why would he kill my son?” She asks, and it’s urgent. Her eyes flitter, a mesh of grief and sorrow and confusion, “He didn’t even know him. Why would he kill him?”

“I don’t know.” You say. You swallow, “I’m sorry, Sheriff Hicks.”

She stares back at you a moment.

Then she’s nodding, blinking away the array of emotions she’d briefly allowed you to see.

“That’s for me to figure out,” She says. She looks over at Sam, “We’ll release Tara. But Sam - that doesn’t mean she still isn’t a suspect. If we find any link between them-”

“There’s no link.” Sam says, “My sister is innocent.”

The Sheriff nods.

“I’ll call the station.”

She moves over to speak to another officer. The relief on Sam’s face is palpable. You squeeze her thigh, mirror her relief with yours.

Tara’s coming home. You’d given the police what they wanted - a suspect to pin the murders on. She’d come home and you’d kiss her and hold her and never let her go again. Your veins flood with dopamine, the nicest high you could possibly imagine.

Tara’s safe.

But Mindy's frowning. You move over to her, frowning a little.

“What is it?” You ask.

Mindy turns to you, the look in her eyes urgent.

“Richie was there that night,” She says, “The night Tara was attacked. He was there with you and he wasn’t Ghostface. Not that night.”

You blink.

Mindy seizes your arm.

“There’s two, YN,” She says, “There’s fucking two of them.”

And your blood runs cold.

#all hers #ghostface!tara #mine #fanfic #scream vi #tara carpenter #jenna ortega #tara carpenter x yn #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter x reader #jenna ortega x yn #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x reader

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kristlewrites · 7 months

Text

“Shoot! Take a Panorama”

CW: semi-public sex, degradation (slut, whore, bitch), oral (m!receiving), slut-shaming, nickname (mamas), dacryphilia, rough sex, but dw aftercare at the end!

PAIRING: TattooArtist!Law x Blk!FemReader

WC: 1.9k

🫧🗯️: Thank you so so much for all the support on my lastest fics, it means alot to me!🫶🏽 uh ive never gotten a tattoo yet, so if the tattoo experience isnt accurate... oh well! I had to watch a video to get as best as i could ijbol. Also way off topic but has anyone watched bottoms, like its probably one of my fave movie releases this year.

MINORS DNI

(Cheese!)

Hand in hand you and Perona skipped down the cold sidewalk. It was just a little past midnight and both you and Perona were all jittery with excitement. While you guys were at Peronas apartment, she had this insane idea that you guys should have matching tattoos. "It'll be so cute!” She squeals, holding up her phone showing some ideas. Searching through pinterest you guys had finally come to an agreement on the design, matching stars in hot pink ink right on your waist. You guys spend about thirty minutes looking for a parlor that's open this late.

“Ohh it's gonna be impossible” Perona sulks, throwing her phone across her bed. Laying down in defeat

“No, look! I found one and look they take walk-ins too!” You exclaimed you show her, her mood quickly changes while she springs up from the bed and starts jumping

“Well let's go!” She shrieks, opening for her closet revealing all different shades of pink and black clothing pieces. She put on a cute two piece outfit and you were ready to go!

You guys approach a small store, built with red brick decorated with neon lights flickering ‘Open 24/7’. Deserted parking lot, with only two cars assuming that they both belong to the employees.

“Is this the right place?” Perona questions.

“Umm, It should be” you reply with a little uncertainty in your voice “It should be fine though”

In sync you guys make your way towards the glass doors, met with a cold breeze sending yall into a shiver.

“Hey what can I do for y'all?” A woman's voice vibrated through the room, capturing your attention. “My name is Bonney”

“We wanted to get matching tattoos.” answered Perona, her arms tangled around yours squeezing them.

“Awh, that's so cute. Give me a minute, I have to tidy up the studio.” Bonney existed the counter and headed into a room towards the left

“Ahhh! I'm so excited” Perona shrills, making her way towards some chairs lined up against the brick wall.

“I know right!” You respond admiring all the beautiful artworks lined up against the wall varying with color and realism. ‘The people here must be really good’ you thought to yourself, sitting next to perona.

Bonney comes out of the room waving to Perona letting her know it's time. “Wish me luck y/n” Perona whispers, clearly nervous but also excited at the same time.

“Law should be ready for you anytime soon” Bonney reassured you, closing the door behind her.

Now that you were alone, you finally realized the severity of the situation. You didn't think about the consequences till now, and how irresponsible it may seem that this was decided just on impulse. But not just that but what about the actual process? Your pain tolerance was below average.

“You can come in now.” you hear a rough voice from across the store. Reluctantly you grab your purse and get up from your seat making your way slowly into the room.

Hesitantly Knocking on the door, “Hello”

The door opens wide to reveal a tall melanated man littered with tattoos from head to toe.

“Show me your design” He asks, not even giving you attention. Pulling out your phone, you show him the design. He pats onto the chair gesturing for you to sit down. You lay down onto the chair facing towards the ceiling while he fishes for his tools. “Where do you want it?” He asks, still searching for his tools.

“Right here” You lower your shorts and point down towards your waist.

He moves his chair towards his desk and quickly starts sketching out the design, “Is this alright?” he asks, displaying his outline, you nod at his impressive work. You flinch at the coolness of the alcohol. Which he wipes down the area of your stomach making sure that it is nice and prepped. He sets down his stencil sketch on the region where you want the tattoo to be, tearing it off gently leaving the ink on your skin.

A few seconds later you hear the intimidating buzzing noise of the machine coming closer. “Let me know when you're ready” Law asks, wiping down the tip of the needle. You nod nervously. ‘Its now or never’ you think to yourself.

You squirm from the contact of the needle converging on your skin, you tense up a little from the pain but with time the pain becomes much more tolerable. It takes no time at all, you finish as quick as you started. He pats down the area of the tattoo with care then gets up “Don't make any sudden movements, I'm gonna grab a bandage real quick” he declares standing up leaving the room.

You reach for your purse, digging for your wallet. But it wasn't there!!? ‘Ohmyfuckinggod; you thought to yourself immediately you sat up “Shit!” you whisper shout from the pain of the freshly inked tattoo. No way you left your wallet at personas apartment are you kidding how does that even happen. You were sure that it was in your purse when you left.

You hear Laws footsteps come closer and lay back down, you're so fucked.He comes in setting down the bandage and running through the aftercare steps. You are not even paying attention, worried about how you'll be able to even leave. “Did you get that?” he asks

“Um, yea.”

“So cash or card?”

“Well about that…I kinda sorta left my wallet at home.”you say “Do you guys take apple pay?”

“No.” he says bluntly

“Well h-how about I cash app you?”

“I'm not allowed to receive tips”

“Pleaseee” you were pleading for you life

He shakes his head no

“Well, how am I supposed to pay you?” you say whining a little bit.

A devilish smirk sneaks up across his face “I have an idea.”

Next thing you know, your knees are on the cold hard tile,tears streaming down your face, nose running, and your mouth is stuffed with laws long filthy dick. He viciously grabs your braids pulling you back, “Do it correctly whore” he seethes

“I-its t-too much” You say sniffling

“I don't want to hear it bitch, you will take it all.” He says while slapping his slimy cock on your face then pushes you back onto his dick causing your eyes to roll back. You continue to suck on his dick, twirling your tongue around the tip. Using your hand to make up for the rest of his cock twisting it round and round. You look up to him with your big brown eyes pleading. And my oh my is he enjoying the view, your crystal teardrops flowing down your beautiful face, you breasts spilling out of your tank top, it's like a masterpiece to him.

He thrusts his dick more into your mouth causing you to choke, “You dirty lying bitch, saying you can't take it all, well look at you taking me in so well” he snickers. Seizing your head he pushes you back and forth, your mouth rocking against his cock, “you need to go faster, I'm getting bored up here” law says. Mindlessly you obey, rocking vigorously on his cock, gagging you go faster and faster taking him whole. He pulls your head once again and jerks your head in a smooth rhythm, your tongue rotating in a fluent pattern on his penis sending him into a state of unconsciousness. Without warning you feel his warm gooey cum shoot down your throat. You open your mouth, rejecting the feeling “Nuh uh don't even think about, swallow it all.” nodding eagerly you gulp it down, shivering from the weird sensation traveling down your esophagus. “Open wide” Law orders, obediently you do just that.

“Ah” You open your mouth wagging your tongue, he sticks his thumb inspecting your mouth.Your face was a wreck, saliva and drool smeared all across your face, nose running, stained trails of your tears.

“Good girl, now get on the chair and get on all fours for me”

Without a second to think, you remove your clothes leaving them on the floor, you jump onto the chair raising your plump ass in the air. (If yall are confused it like those chairs that can retract down like this)

“You filthy slut, your pussy is leaking like a goddamn faucet are you not ashamed?” Law whispers into your making you even wetter. Even when you had just met him, you were already so attracted to him. His deep rough voice, his tall figure, slim long fingers, and his tattoos crawling in every corner of his body. It was hard to keep your composure when he drew the tattoo on you, and now seeing him underneath his clothes was enough to send you over the edge. You have to admit this was definitely not how you imagined this night would go – poor Perona is probably already done with hers waiting for you in the lobby– but you can't say you're mad about it.

Grazing his fingers across your already slimy clit pacing it back and forth teasing at your entrance. He slowly slips his lanky fingers into you, moving it slowly and steady taking in your warm embrace. Going in out into your melty cunt, preparing for his aching dick itching to enter you. Releasing his fingers a smooth ‘pop!’ sound pronouncing itself. Effortlessly he pulls on a condom, gears it straight towards your hole. Gradually, he inserts himself into you returning into that warm enclosure.

“Mmph” your eyes roll back at the fulfilling sensation of his cock into you, pulsing your cunt begging for more. You arch your back a little bit yearning for his whole dick.

“You're such a greedy bitch, arching your back like a greedy little slut. You want me so bad don't you?”

“Mhm” you mutter

“Nuh-uh use your words lil mama or else I won't be able to help you”

“I want it! Pleaseee”

“Good girl” law says in a rewarding tone then grabs your hips violently thrusting into you relentlessly showing no signs of slowing down. You reach the ends of the chair, trying to keep yourself supported from his endless stamina. “Im gonna fuck you so good, your pussy wont forget my dick.”Law grunts as he hits your g-spot repeatedly, it sends you over the edge, drooling spilling from your mouth, eyes rolled back beyond, brain turned to mush. You can't even speak, being an incoherent mess.

“L-law, i-m gonna c-cumm” you mumble out disorderly a trail of spit spilling onto the chair.

“C'mon bitch, come on me like the dirty slut that you are” Law muttered. “Agh” ,without a second to waste your orgasm comes flowing through your body. You shudder at the sensation of it crashing down. Panting hard, Law continues until he himself releases into the condom.

You wake up with your whole body in shambles, ‘what the fuckkk’ you mutter to yourself. Trying to lift yourself up you feel a great surge of pain in your back. You look around the unfamiliar scenery to realize you're not in your bed, or not even Peronas?!?!? Panning your eyes down to the chair that you were sleeping in, the memories come back to you like a flood. “What the fuckkk” you say even louder, understanding the severity of the situation. Law enters the room with a towel. You stare at him in disbelief, you cannot believe what you have done.

“Don't worry about your friend, I sent her home already” Law winks

You raise your arm towards your forehead, hiding in shame of what you have done. You can hear Law chuckling in the background and you just wanna drown yourself.

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creatingnikki · 4 months

Text

things to remember in 2024

i. more quiet time, more silence. more shavasana, more stillness.

ii. keep promises you make to yourself. everyone else can be disregarded — the promises they make, the promises you make to them.

iii. there is no "should do this" or "should be that way" as a universal rule book. your experiences and lessons teach you what are your values, preferences, and takes on life and people. you don't need to convince others of them, you don't even need to most times articulate them to follow them and do as you please.

iv. things that increase your risk of chronic health (mental and physical) issues: sitting, smoking, and situationships. your legs, lungs, and love life deserve much better.

v. 'the best way to take care of the future is to take care of the present moment'. fight the instant gratification, the fomo, the yolo. do the healthy thing for you in the moment, every moment.

vi. go to the salon, the bookstore, the train station, the beach, the bakery more than you go to the bar, the boy's house, and self doubt/loathing.

vii. travel even if you don't have a big budget and cannot do everything you'd want to in that destination because you do now want some travel experiences and stories while you're still in your 20s. make it a priority now, you don't want to feel bitter later.

viii. stop trying to frustrate and confuse yourself so much. you are both the vivacious, warm, kind, person and the somber, detached, pensive person. it's not one betraying the other. it's both you — the sunflower and the black orchid.

ix. ask people of things, it's no virtue to only give and not take. however, don't be so sensitive or shattered if not given or denied. people don't have as much power over your heart as you believe. your heart is happily vacationing on the moon most months of the year away from this worldly chaos. it's your ego that cannot take it. acknowledge the role of your ego, learn to understand it so that you can work with it.

x. do the cringe things. post a hundred reels on Instagram even if you get five likes on each. cringe at that part of you that cringes when you do the things you want instead of cringing at yourself. when you do that you're viewing yourself as a third-party judging yourself and honestly love aren't there thousands out there to do that job already? so then you stick to your job — support yourself no matter how you decide to live your life.

xi. love and romance are not the centre or purpose of your life. you are. the genre of your life is neither rom com nor tragic passionate romance. it's slice of life. love and romance will happen when it happens and will be one part of your life. but all the other parts? they belong to you — to your art and writing, to your joy and exploration of yourself and this world, to your family and friends, to food and cats, to travel and music, to peace and sleep. live a full life.

xii. set processes for your routine that streamline everything and make it easy. your morning work commute, your night skincare, going over your monthly budget, saving and investing for your goals, how you organize your life and time. and when problems show up, simply problem solve. don't take it personally, try to not feel dejected and doomed. and for the times you do, don't try to fix anything. take a shower, eat a good meal, go to sleep.

xiii. when setting boundaries, and when those boundaries are crossed, you don't have to break your head trying to get the other person to change their behaviour. instead, you should change your behaviour. if they cross a boundary, then that should be your cue for a behaviour change, a decision. don't be at the mercy of another's understanding and compassion to have your life be aligned to your needs and values.

xiv. three steps taken > three hundred steps planned. pausing for three months > abandoning for three years. three people you love and who love you > thirty people who are fluff. idk why three is the magic number here but you get the gist. moderation, my love, and balance. regulation and removal.

xv. cut out the noise. you'll figure out more of what that means as you begin to do it. it's social media, yes. it's societal conditioning, yes. but it's also the things your loved ones say despite having the best intentions at heart for you. it's the things the younger you believed and thought and wrote. it's the friends and lovers who come and go and don't really know you well. it's all of it. you have to cut out the noise. build noise-cancelling headphones for your soul over time and carry them with you everywhere.

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runby2 · 4 months

Text

hi it's the creator of horse plinko and other huge posts on this site.

i wanted to make a quick post on here, not to keep everyone updated on my life, because i'm going to keep staying far away from social media, but to let everyone know that if you feel like you are endlessly changing yourself to fit your following's perfect standards, you are not actually getting better as a person. why do i say this? growing up, i had a horrible childhood and it was hard to grasp a sense of self, so the internet was a good escape. i made posts about current topics, tried to get a lot of notes, and when i got those notes i felt like my life had a purpose. i didn't let myself ever find out who i truly was because early on i was so obsessed with being the perfect persona on the internet and avoiding home life, that i had literally linked my life cable to the internet. i was the living definition of chronically online. i was so young too, so i saw a bright future ahead of myself. "it can only go up from here." 3 years of complete isolation happened after my 18 years in a cult, and recovering from mental institutional abuse. and i went by juicedoesthings. and i fought with every part of myself, ignoring my DID and even having alters post inspirational paragraphs about why DID is 'something i know i don't have because ___'- some you can probably still find on this blog buried deep somewhere - i was lost in a cycle of amnesia and perfectionism to the point ALL of my identities were juicedoesthings, and we were all the same, and if one of us stepped out of line, we'd shun it. we couldn't risk being problematic. we couldn't risk everything we've worked up to be crumble. because that was all we were. don't make your identity a username. don't keep track of what is and is not acceptable at the current time in a fandom of any sort. don't curate your art just because a discourse blog reblogged it for clout. don't overthink some personal statement you made just because thirty people sent you personalized death threats. don't forget about nuance, and in the most sincere way i can communicate this, touch grass. and find out what comforts you. learn what makes you happy, not what can improve you. this post will probably be drowned under reblogs as my life goes on and i occasionally check back into this ghost town of what used to be my only identity. but tumblr fame has irreversibly damaged me, and how i perceive myself. it took so long for me to feel like it was okay to make mistakes. if the above sounds like you, i desperately urge you to find a way out of that cycle. don't chase fame online. anonymity can definitely get you where you want to be safely. over my years on here ive seen children adults and teens ask how to make a webcomic, how i got this many followers, how i became "me". i was conforming. i became perfect for the internet, but i didn't have any sense of self. don't be like me. don't become me. just create, and disconnect yourself from who you think you need to be in order to be enough.

#positivity #recovery #art #webcomics #juicedoesthings

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bookshelf-dust · 1 year

Text

the hurt is good

part i part ii part iii part iv part v part vi

billy hargrove x fem!reader

word count: 4,252

warnings: swearing, anxiety, loneliness, a smidge of angst, karen wheeler and her goons as well as mentions of the way they treat billy, hurt, comfort

a/n: hi!!! alas, behold!! i’ve been working on this very slowly for like the past week. but i think i’m pretty proud of this part. thanks for sticking around to read each of these and for encouraging me to try something new. i really hope you enjoy this part. love you bunches!! <333

before you read, listen to: angeleyes by ABBA and/or tiny dancer by elton john

————

The bedsheets are cold everywhere that your body isn’t. Each time you that you rub your feet together you feel the chilly fabric and scramble back to the warm spot you’ve created.

You flip onto your side, reaching for the phone on your nightstand. You punch in a number. A number you think you might remember for the rest of your life.

You wipe your cheek as you maneuver to your back, receiver pressed to your ear.

You stare up at the ceiling, feeling the warmth of tears at your hairline from the change in position. You can’t get them to stop.

The phone’s barely rung before he picks up, and you notice that it’s one in the morning.

“Hello?” Billy’s voice sounds like he hasn’t used it in awhile.

“Hey. It’s me,” you say.

“Figured. No other dumbass would call my number at fucking dark-thirty.”

You can’t find it in you to laugh, though you feel in your chest that you would’ve if you weren’t so stuck.

“Were you sleeping?” you ask, though you know he wasn’t. Not with the speed at which he answered the phone.

“No. What’s the matter?” he inquires.

You sniffle, and Billy sits straight up on the other side of the line.

“Y/N?”

You take a shaky breath, steeling yourself.

“I miss you.”

Billy has to take the phone away from his ear for a second. He runs a hand down his face and blinks. Hard.

No one has ever said that to him.

I miss you. I miss you.

Composing himself, he responds. “Oh yeah?”

“Billy.” Your tone is stern, though not quite pleading.

“You wanna know somethin’?”

“Sure.”

“I miss you more,” he tells you.

“Please don’t make this a competition, Hargrove.” Now you speak a touch more pleadingly.

Billy laughs, and it makes you smile.

You wish you could see him. See the way his eyes squint when he chuckles, or the way he tosses his head back and cackles.

“So you just miss me? That’s all?” He changes the subject.

You stop for a second. No. That’s not all.

“Yeah,” you say, though it’s not very convincing—to you or to Billy.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” You pause shortly before continuing. “I-I just wanted to hear your voice is all.”

Billy’s grin dissipates. Something’s wrong, and he can feel it. He goes to speak, but you beat him to it, perhaps sensing that he’d dig for more. You hadn’t meant to sound so sad.

“I’m gonna try and get some sleep, okay, Billy? Will you do the same for me, please?”

You ask because he’s told you he doesn’t sleep well a lot of time. And sometimes, when you look at him, you can see it.

The rings under his eyes. The way he holds himself.

Billy hates that you’re not telling him something. Something that’s made you call him in the middle of the night, something that he thinks has made you cry. He thinks that because he’s never heard that particular kind of sniffle before. You sound so tired.

He doesn’t want you to cry or to be upset. Billy Hargrove cares about you more than he’s ever cared about himself. He even finds that he wants to. For you.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll try. But only if you promise you’re really going to rest.”

“I promise, Billy,” you say.

“Okay. Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Billy.”

When you set the phone down, your tears have stopped, though you remain awake, staring at the wall, your thoughts enveloping you.

You really hadn’t meant for him to catch that you’re upset. You hadn’t even meant to call him. You just needed him a reminder that he was there.

Earlier, you’d been straitening up your room when you found yourself going through old boxes filled with pictures or badges or cards. And you’d found a couple of photographs with you and your old friends. Some with your small group of middle school friends, but also some with Nancy.

Suddenly you’d found yourself very overwhelmed. You felt fear wash over you like when you’re at the beach and you try and jump the waves but miss.

You’d been afraid that Billy might leave you like everyone else.

You don’t want him to leave you. You want him to stay.

————

“You know you can invite Billy over whenever you want, right?”

Your mother sits on the living room floor. She’s decided to alphabetize your VHS tape collection. You have no idea why.

You’re spread out on the couch, watching her. “Is this a trick?”

She turns to face you and smacks a hand to her chest. “What? No!”

The smirk she’s sporting says otherwise, and you give her a look that makes her relent. “I just feel like you’ve been really quiet lately. I can tell you’re anxious. And I see the way Billy helps that.”

She shakes your copy of The Sound of Music for you to see. She knows how you feel about Mr. von Trapp. You grin sweetly.

“And I see the way he looks at you. The way you look at him,” she says.

“Mom.”

“Honeybee, I’m serious,” she tells you, voice soft as ever. “I can tell that you feel safe with him. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you.”

“I know.”

You’re quiet for a minute. You wonder if Billy’s busy today. You would like to see him, though you always want to see him.

“I’m gonna go call him, okay? Maybe he could come over this afternoon and stay for dinner?”

Your mother gives you an enthusiastic thumbs up as you stand, and you watch her eye Gene Kelly for a minute too long before you head for the phone.

————

Billy doesn’t have any plans today, he tells you.

“I was thinking we could hang around for awhile and you could eat with us? My mom said she might even make cookies.”

Billy’s laugh is gravelly and sends a shiver straight down your spine. “Cookies, huh? Yeah, alright.”

“So it’s the cookies that do it for you then?” you ask, feigning offense at his agreeing only after you mentioned treats.

“Should there be something else that sweetens the deal?” He’s teasing you now.

“You tell me.”

“I was thinking maybe this girl I’m talking to would be a good addition.”

“Oh?” You twist the phone cord around your hand.

“Yeah. She’s a real pain in my ass, but I kind of like her, so I keep her around.”

“She sounds nice, I guess.” You’re so glad he can’t see you.

Billy hums. “You guess? I think she’s pretty damn sweet herself. I guess I don’t even really need the cookies. She’s more than enough for me.”

————

Billy opens the car door and grins at the sight of you—especially since you’ve decided to sit in the backseat with him, leaving the passenger seat empty.

Your mother realized that she not only had nothing to cook for dinner, but also no supplies for cookies, so she decided you could just scoop Billy up, take him along to get groceries, and then drag him back home.

Billy couldn’t really believe the gesture. But even if it was odd, this entire premise of being part of someone’s plans or being cared for, he found himself enjoying it.

Your mother turns the radio up a little, allowing a buffer for the both of you to talk to one another, that way she can’t really hear you.

Billy looks you over. He’s still worried about you after that phone call. He notices your knee bouncing and reaches over, slipping his hand over it and tucking his fingers snugly underneath it.

The bouncing ceases. You put your hand on top of his, run your fingers over the lines and creases in his skin, the engravings on his ring.

“Is it the store?” he asks tentatively. He figures going out is what’s got you a little nervous.

You look at him and nod. He lifts his other hand, dragging the pad of his thumb along the slope of your nose, which you wrinkle in response.

He smiles at you. Each and every smile that he gives you feels like it’s special. Feels like it’s meant just for you.

You grab his hand, freeing it from over your knee so that you can hold it properly. When you’re successfully doing so, he gives it a squeeze.

Your mother pulls into the parking lot and you’re looking for spots, not paying attention to Billy.

You feel him raise your clasped hands, and then you feel the warm press of his mouth. You turn to him, though he’s already looking at you. He lets his lips rest against the back of your hand for a second longer, and then he releases you down so he can unbuckle himself.

You’re practically burning on the way into the store, despite the fact that there’s a chilly wind blowing every which way that should be preventing that.

Your mother grabs a cart and then digs around in her bag for the list she made. She rips it in two and gives one half to Billy. “I’m trusting you not to let her sneak unnecessary things into the basket.”

“How do you know I’m not going to do that?” Billy counters, eyes dancing around the little scrap of paper.

“Well it’s fine if you do. I’ll make a little corner for you to keep snacks.”

“Are you kidding me?” you start. Your mother winks at you, and walks off, pushing her cart away with her.

You go the other direction, snatching up a basket. “I can’t believe this,” he hears you mumble.

Billy laughs behind you. “Keep it up, Hargrove. Keep it up.” That only makes him laugh harder, and then he plants his forehead between your shoulder blades, his hands going to your sides.

“You’re just mad she likes me more,” he says into your back before righting himself.

“I’m not even allowed to have a ‘corner of snacks.’ You’re such a dick.”

You move away from him, but not before snatching the list so you can see what you’re supposed to be retrieving.

He takes it right back from you. “I’ll share with you.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

You grab hold of his bicep and he takes that as having earned your forgiveness, though it’s not for long, because you can’t actively reach for groceries whilst holding onto him.

He opens the fridge door while you grab milk, gets things from the top shelves that you can’t reach, picks out all the ingredients for chocolate chip cookies.

He doesn’t actually end up grabbing anything for himself; he can’t fathom letting your mother spend money on him like that.

You turn a corner, in search of your mom. You’re now holding the basket with both hands because it’s much too heavy, and you’d like empty it out into her cart.

She scoots into the other end of the aisle and you rush to her, relieving yourself of the groceries.

“She wouldn’t let me hold it,” Billy tells your mother.

“I have muscles,” you state, pretending like you’re not slightly out of breath.

You wander down a little ways in search of pretzels. Billy follows you a few seconds later, having paused to ask if your mom needed him to get anything else.

“Billy?” You hear him walk up behind you.

“Y/N?”

“Can you get those for me? The stick ones? Please?” You’re pointing upwards. Normally, you’d scale the shelf, but with him here that seems unnecessary.

“Sure.”

He stretches upwards, his shirt riding up, and you catch a small stretch of his stomach. You wonder what it feels like. Probably softer than his hands.

On the other end of the aisle, your mother looks back and forth between her list and the groceries in her cart, scratching things off as she goes. She’s nearly finished.

There’s a hubbub of voices from behind her, but she chooses to ignore it. It sounds like soccer moms. She’s never been one, and never wanted to be.

“Nicky!” A voice she recognizes snaps her out of her stupor, and she takes a deep breath, preparing herself.

Karen Wheeler. And from the sounds of it, a couple more moms from her group.

Nicky lost all claims to being in said group when you were in middle school. She couldn’t take the obsessive PTA meetings and activities that just made it look like these mothers actually cared about their children, when everyone knew they didn’t.

Nicky pushes her glasses up into her hair, caps her pen, and turns.

“Hi, Karen. Pamela. Tiff.” She makes eye contact with each of them in turn and offers a stiff smile.

“How are you? How’s Y/N?” Karen asks.

“I’m just fine.” Nicky’s head darts towards where you stand with Billy. She smiles at the two of you.

He’s got his fingers hooked in your belt loops, and you’re playing with the cuff of his sleeve, occasionally brushing your thumb against the skin of his wrist. You look happy.

“Y/N is doing just fine, too. Really well in school. I’m very proud of her.”

Nicky turns back to Karen, but her eyes are glued on you. More specifically, on Billy.

“Is that Billy Hargrove?” Karen seems to realize that sounds off, and covers. “His sister, Max, is friends with Mike.”

“Oh, I see,” Nicky says, appraising the looks on her and the other women’s faces. She doesn’t like the way they can’t seem to stop staring at Billy.

They’re looking him up and down, looking at him like he’s an object, like he’s this sex symbol.

Pamela turns to face Nicky. “Is he with her?”

“Would it matter if he was?” Nicky suddenly finds herself very angry and unwilling to put up with these women.

Pamela looks shocked, but it’s Tiff who pipes up. “I just thought that he’d be with someone more…mature. Y/N’s so quiet. So…anxious.”

Nicky tosses her pen in her bag. “What the hell is wrong with you? Billy is eighteen years old, and the three of you are looking at him like he’s good enough to eat. Last time I checked, you all had children the exact same age. If by mature you mean yourself, then shit! If you can’t see what’s wrong with that, then I don’t know what to tell you.”

Billy hears your mom raise her voice and holds onto your waist a little more firmly. You look up when he does.

“What gives you the right to assume you know what kind of relationship he wants to be in?” your mother continues. “He’s a fucking kid, Tiffany, and so is my daughter.”

“She might be quiet but there isn’t a damn thing wrong with that, and neither is there with being anxious. It’s clear to me that the three of you don’t know the first thing about what life is like for teenagers these days, even if you were one once. And I’m sorry that you’re so unhappy in your marriages that you think it’s okay to prey on Billy. Get a fucking divorce.”

Nicky grabs hold of her cart and pushes it towards the both of you, cocking her head to the side in a swift motion that tells you both to follow her.

“You two get everything?” she asks, continually walking.

“Yeah,” you tell her.

“Then let’s get the hell out of here.”

————

You notice, as you’re starting to help your mother make cookies, that Billy keeps pushing his hair out of his face. Having already secured yours away from any possible encounters with ingredients, you decide to help him.

“Come with me,” you say, wiggling your fingers in front of his. He grabs hold and let’s you lead him to your bathroom.

He thinks about the last time he was in here, about you cleaning him up.

You pull the cabinet open and get a scrunchie, stretching it over your fingers to show him. “This okay? I could tell it was buggin’ you.”

“Yeah, that’s fine.” Billy blushes a little at the idea of you having your hands in his hair, and you pretend not to notice.

You reach up, gathering all of his hair at the base of his neck. It’s softer than you expected, though you can feel the product in it, and the little bit of frizz that’s fought back.

Your nail grazes his neck, just slightly, and it makes him shiver. You tie his hair up into a bun. There are a couple shorter pieces hanging out at the front, and you make him face you so that you can push them behind his ears.

You twist one curl around your finger and then tuck it away. You look into his blue eyes, and he’s staring at you like…no. He couldn’t feel that way, could he?

Though maybe he does. Maybe he’s got the same ache for you that you’ve got for him.

Before he can think too much about it, Billy cups the back of your head and leans in, placing a kiss on your forehead.

“Thank you,” he mumbles against your skin, and then he’s giving you another one.

His lips are warm and soft, and you feel the press of them long after he’s pulled back.

You can feel him rubbing his thumb against the back of your head, and you lean into his touch. “You’re welcome.” The smile you give him makes him feel like he might actually die.

When you’re back in the kitchen, your mother has already got a batch in the oven, but she’s set everything else out for the two of you to make one.

“I wanted there to be at least a couple edible ones,” she says.

You turn to Billy. “Are you hearing this? She doubts my skills.”

“I don’t blame her,” he says teasingly, looking at Nicky, who laughs sickly sweet.

“You know what? I’ve had enough of this.” You feign wiping tears from your face and go to stomp away, but Billy just grabs hold of you instead, gently pulling you towards the counter.

“Don’t go, I need you.”

Your mother takes that as her queue to give you two some time.

Nicky knows. She knows that Billy is falling in love with you, if he’s not already there.

She thinks you feel the same, but she also knows you.

————

Billy seems to have made himself quite comfortable where he sits cross legged against your headboard. He’s already eaten his share of cookies, but he’s glad to wait as you finish yours.

You’re sitting at the end of the bed, facing him. When you finish your cookies, you sit up and move towards him, reaching to set your napkin on your side table. When he sees you go to move back, he grabs hold of your hand.

“Sit up here with me.”

You comply, positioning yourself beside him, and when you’re sideways so that you can look at him, he pulls your legs into his lap, resting his hands on your calves.

He’s only quiet for a second before he speaks again. “Are we gonna talk about it?”

“About what?” You adjust the pillow behind your back.

“Y/N. You know what. You don’t just call me at one in the fucking morning, sounding like that, and then expect me to forget about it.”

“You could tell then I guess?”

“That you were crying? Yeah. You think I don’t pay attention to stuff like that?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug, avoiding his eyes.

“Well I’ve been worried about you all day, and don’t say I didn’t need to be.”

Billy raises his voice just enough to be serious, though he’s not yelling. You can tell he’s a little frustrated with you though.

“Please talk to me. I opened up to you about my fucking dad, Y/N. You have to let me in.”

Your eyes well up, but you push those feelings down, pulling yourself away from Billy and sitting up on your knees. He looks upset at the loss of you splayed across him.

“I was having a rough night, and I freaked myself out,” you start.

“Billy, you’re the first friend I’ve had in a long time.” He nods, urging you on.

“I found all these old pictures, some with friends from middle school, but some with Nancy too.”

“Wheeler?”

“Wheeler,” you confirm. “When I was middle school, I had a couple of friends, and we would do everything together, you know? We’d plan out our futures, even if it was just talking about high school and dumb shit like that. But I always felt like the odd one out, you know? I was freaked out about high school. They weren’t. I was shy, I was wary. I didn’t want things to change.”

“But they did. And we got to high school, and I lost all of them. They all found their own groups, and I just didn’t. I did find Nancy, though. We were both in the library at the same time, and we just clicked? We got really close and I felt safe with her.”

“We knew everything about each other. I felt like her family was my family, that kind of thing. But then she met Barb, and then Steve,” here your voice breaks, and Billy fucking hates it.

“Nothing bad happened. We just started seeing each other less, and I’d call and she’d be busy. It got one-sided. Billy, it was like she forgot about me.”

He extends his hand, and you take it. Those tears you’d been fighting win, spilling over slowly and then all at once.

“And I’ve had a hard time getting over that, even if I tell my mom that I’m fine. Really, I’m not mad at Nancy. I just feel so…insignificant. It hurts, knowing I’m so easy to forget, Billy. And I saw all those pictures last night, and then I thought of you and I got so scared all of the sudden.”

“It’s like everyone I’ve ever let in has left me behind. And I’m scared you’re going to forget about me too. And I don’t think I’ll recover from that, Billy. Because I need you.”

You stop then, and a sob rips free from your throat, though Billy can tell you didn’t want it to. “I’m sorry.” You try to apologize for your state.

He sits up on his knees too, and pulls you into his arms. You bury your face in his neck and he lets you, because he knows exactly how you feel. He thinks about his mother for a second, but let’s that go.

Billy’s hands move steadily over your back, doing their best to soothe you. He carefully guides your face from his shoulder, ensuring you look at him.

“I’m not going to forget about you, Y/N. I fucking swear. I could never. You are not anywhere near insignificant, and you’re not anywhere damn near easy to forget.”

“I’m so sorry that all of happened to you, and I can’t explain any of it, because everyone’s got their own shit going on. But I can tell you that you didn’t deserve it. And I can tell you that I need you too. You make me want to stay in this shithole. You make me want to be better.”

“Yeah?” Your voice is quiet, and you look so young, so fragile. It’s killing him.

“Yeah.”

The both of you are quiet for awhile, sitting with each other, Billy waiting until your breathing has steadied, until he feels your hiccuping stop.

“Billy, if I ask my mom, and she says it’s okay, will you stay the night?” You grin as you ask.

He laughs at that, and you can feel the vibrations of it where your face is shoved into his chest. He remembers the joke he made about that one of the first times you hung out.

Shit, he thinks. He really needs to tell you.

“Yeah, I will.”

You hop up, rubbing your face dry, and then excitedly make for the door. You hold up your index finger. “I’ll be right back.”

He hears you patter to the living room, the mumbling of your and your mother’s voices.

When you return, you’re giddy.

“My mom said you can stay the night, Billy.”

He laughs so hard that he falls onto his back, the spring in your mattress making him bounce a little. He’s fucking cackling at you, and it only makes you do the same.

————

That night, after Billy has made sure Neil and Susan will be gone awhile, after he’s sat and waited for Hopper to pick up Max and take her back to theirs to be with El, and then packed an overnight bag, he’s back in your room.

In your bed. With you.

“My bed is much warmer with you in it, I must say.”

Billy smiles at you, and even let’s you play with the pendant around his neck. “I’m glad,” he says. “Guess that means I’ll have to spend more time in it then.”

You turn your face into your pillow, and he chuckles.

“Come here, baby. Let me hold you.”

Baby.

You scoot closer to him, and he scoops you up in his arms.

“I’m never going to forget about you.” He says it into your hair, his breath warm on your scalp.

“I believe you.” Billy kisses your forehead again, and you feel safe. He feels like he could be your forever home.

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

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whumpitisthen · 24 days

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I don't know if you take a request!

But, can you write about Whumpee with Stockholm Syndrome who went back to Whumper after finally escaped for a month?

I take requests yes but you must know it takes me four years to come up with a single draft for anything so be prepared to wait an indefinite amount of time!! I tried to keep it short and idk if ive succeeded!! Here you go!!

No Longer a Lie

Their goodbye was the same as a soldier’s going off to war. He may never return, and even if he does, he would return a different man. A sombre, yet loving valediction.

Her smile is watery and proud. The kind, thoughtful, caring old lady that found him that day and took him in believes that he is going home today. He had told her his parents have finally arranged everything ready for him to return. He had explained that they didn't expect him to suddenly show up in their life after so many years again, that they lived abroad and needed time to get his papers in order, that they cannot wait to see him again. She believes he is going to heal and find himself, and be safe under the care of his family.

He was lying. He doesn't have a family. He had lied to this sweet, innocent lady so she would not try to stop him from what he is about to do. She thinks she saved him, and that he is going home. To some extent, that is true.

She packed him a backpack full of snacks, spare clothes, even some money. She bought him new clothes to wear. She walked him to the train station, though her rickety hips barely allowed her to stay standing long enough. She watched him get on the train and waved at him all the way up until they could no longer see each other through the window as the platform grew further and further away.

He only cried once he was sure she could not see.

He retraces every step he took a month prior to this day. He minds the gap, turns every corner. He recognises a flower shop in the suburbs. The large, tilted tree in the park. A large graffiti under the cement bridge is his next sign that he is going the right direction.

Soon, the houses become overwhelmingly familiar. A few more blocks, and he will be there. His legs ache, the new, cheap shoes he got from her rub at his heels with every step, bloodying the rough fabric. He could not stop his journey if he wanted. He feels his very heart dragging him along on a leash, back to where he left a month ago, back to where he escaped.

There it is. A secluded house at the edge of town, fenced off with barbed wire and kept in perfect condition. His soles burn, but his pace only quickens. He knows those chain links. He knows those barred windows. He knows that godforsaken garage door. He is home. He made it.

Oh, she would have never let him go if he told her that he considered this prison his home.

Reaching the outer gate, the intimate feeling of fear choking him arises like an old friend. The last time he saw this place from the outside he only got to for a moment in his haste. A glance over his shoulder in the middle of the night, and then he was gone like a ghost. He wonders what all has changed. He doubts anything has.

He hesitates. They will be angry at him, he's sure. So, so angry. He left without warning, without saying anything. To think he thought he could leave without repercussions instead of owning up to his mistake and suffering the consequences. Now, here he is thirty days later, crawling back on trembling legs, in strange clothing and some fat under his skin to beg for forgiveness. He is the most ungrateful, pathetic creature he can imagine. He's sure he will be told as much once the door opens.

He steels himself and presses the bell. It goes off twice in quick succession thanks to his twitchy fingers. He cannot tell if the overwhelming nerves strangling him are of worry or excitement.

He has been away for too long, trying to function in a place he is no longer meant for. He craves this hell like one would their heaven. He knows it's wrong, he knows he could leave right now and go back to the old lady that took care of him like her own son and he could relearn how to be a person and it would all be okay. He rationalises that it's far too late for that.

The ten seconds that pass in silence after the bell chimes are agony spreading over an eternity. His fingers cramp with how fiercely he fists them to his palm. Eventually, however, the entrance opens, and out steps the devil himself.

He stops on the porch, pausing to make sure his eyes aren't playing tricks on him, but he then quickly crosses the distance between the two of them to jerk the gate open and embrace him before his lost darling could even rant off his apology that he has been writing in his head ever since he first took a step outside of this house.

They stand in silence for a long minute.

This moment feels absolutely perfect. Better than he ever expected it to feel; just the most idyllic scene that goes exactly as he had dreamed it would. The hug feels better than he had imagined, so warm and tight and all-encompassing. His red nose finds its way into the crook of the man's neck, nestling in there. He breathes in deep, taking in the smell of comfort, of the wonderfully known and expected; the familiarity.

“I’ve told you so many times. You do not belong out there anymore.”

In reality, what he had experienced with his freedom was not joy, but layers upon layers of anxiety. Everything was new, everything was unusual, everything was terrifying. What he had grown so used to during his years in this house he threw away in blind greed, wanting more from life than the perfect world his owner had made for him.

At first the freedom was elating. Long forgotten concepts like privacy and control had returned and excited him. But then his new circumstances became tiring. One or two core differences became dozens of alien rules he had to rememorise. Then came shame at experiencing such trouble with something that is meant to be no issue at all for anyone; anyone but him. Normal people don't expect perfect obedience in return for tolerance. Normal people don't have to ask for permission to eat when a plate is put in front of them. Normal people don't have to keep their owners content. Normal people aren't scared of their owners. Normal people don't have owners. These are all things he had to get used to, among the sea of other more obscure examples.

The final straw was his curse of worthlessness. He felt he did not deserve any of this. He ran away. He broke so many rules. He was having awful trouble with his new rules. He was ungrateful. And yet, the old lady only showed kindness and care. No punishments, no threats, not even any mocking or insults. Just relentless, angelic forgiveness. She would not hurt him even when he offered, even when he had asked. He could not handle this; he felt like he was going to go insane with guilt.

His owner had told him this countless times, but only now does he truly understand what he had meant, — the complicated, scary life of a free person just isn't suited for him. Not anymore. He is different. He cannot be left alone for long. He cannot function without clear cut rules, routine or punishments. He doesn't think like everyone else. Above everything, what was killing him every day the most was yearning for his owner. He needs his owner. He cannot be away from him, he depends on him too much. He missed him every day, feeling dumber and dumber each day for being so cowardly.

But now, now he is here again, in his owner's capable hands. Everything will make sense again, all his mistakes will be fixed and he can spend the rest of his life atoning for his naïve stupidity. He will take being locked up in this birdcage for the rest of his life. He will take the sharp, unending burn of punishments each time he slips up. He will take it all without a word if that's what his owner wants. He missed him more than should be possible. He cries. He is so happy.

His relief is crushed as soon as the door locks behind him, and he is once again all alone with the man. His freshly washed hair is grabbed and he is dragged all the way down to the source of all of his nightmares, sent to the floor viciously. His crying turns desperate. He is barely left time to gasp out a plea before he is grabbed again and tied up much too tightly, rope burning over old, thick scarring along his wrists. His cries are muffled with a gag, and his tears are soaked up with a blindfold.

He becomes inconsolable then. He knew this would happen, he knew he would be punished, he knows he deserves it — but this is all too sudden, juxtaposed horribly by the tenderness of that hug that he waited a month for and needed more than he ever realised. Now it's like his owner is a different man, mercilessly restraining him and not saying a word, just like when he is truly furious. He didn't seem angry at all before. His owner seemed as relieved as he did.

He can tell he is dropped off in the middle of the basement by how cold it is and how his skin catches on the drain under him. He is pulled to kneel, and while he tries his best to obey every wordless order, his limbs have become useless jelly, flowing in all the wrong directions.

The punishment is severe. So severe that he is certain he won't survive it. The first to break are his legs. He might not ever be able to walk again, much less run away from consequences. His arms are wrenched behind and up until his shoulders pop, rendering all his limbs useless. They are left there like that, hanging off him like parasites that feed on his agony. He is beaten with something heavy, made of iron. That breaks several more bones, his ribs mostly. His screams start dying down then, not for a lack of trying. The gag muffles every apology he sobs into it, ensuring he will only be able to say sorry once his owner has decided he is truly sorry.

He is reduced to a bag of flesh to be abused. He cannot fight any of it, he cannot see any of it and he cannot stop any of it. He has never felt so much like an object before in his life, not with the old lady, not prior escaping, not prior to being caught. Still, he never even thinks about regretting coming back. He never holds anything against his master, he never holds a grudge or resentment. He deserves this for disobeying him, and his owner deserves his pain as compensation. He deserves this, he deserves this, please, please let him say he deserves all of it and see how he regrets running. He needs to say it, he needs this to end, he wants nothing more than to grovel at the man's feet and sob over and over how worthless he is and how he will never ever try anything like this again.

The only way this can end is if he is forgiven, but he cannot be forgiven until he has apologised.

The blindfold is never removed, not like his bindings and the gag. This distresses him greatly even as he is cuddled in his owner's arms once again, exhausted. The blindfold only ever comes out for the worst of his mistakes. When his master is angry with him. When a simple slap or two or a couple days without food isn't enough. The fact that it is still on even hours after he was finally allowed to beg for forgiveness — he just cannot relax. He supposes that's probably the reason why it's still on. He can’t just forget about what he did so easily with one round of torment. He hopes it will be taken off soon, but at the same time, he has no hope for it coming off in the coming days.

He doesn't even know if he has suffered enough yet. This small thing could very well signal that he will be atoning for this transgression for up to another month; just as long as he had spent away from here. The thought terrifies him enough to sob brokenly into his owner's chest, huddled up against him as he is. He’s rewarded with a light pet. He whispers a thank you.

The man pauses at that, causing his body to tense in preparation of more pain. Wonderfully, however, all that comes is more gentleness, a hand that has hurt him so many times now digging down to the roots of his hair and scratching in a pleasant rhythm. He has never been more thankful. The smallest of kindnesses from his owner are enough for him to forget all about the month of constant mercy from the old lady that took care of him unconditionally. Something must be wrong with him. He doesn't think about that for too long.

“I am so glad you came back,” — his master murmurs.

No one loves him like his master loves him. The old lady… was stupid. She was an idiot. Who would take in a stranger off the street, half-dead, and spoil him like she did? That's moronic. Her kindness — it doesn't matter. Any grain of sweetness from this man means more than a whole year of hers. He loves him. She was just a dumb old lady.

He feels awful for thinking this. His brain is at battle with his heart, trying to convince himself that this is what he is meant to be, that this is right, while feeling a dark emptiness building in his lungs.

Later, once his body is no longer useless and he can do as he is told, he does so. When he is told to clean, he cleans. When he is told to stay still, he stays still. When he is told to hold his breath, he holds his breath. Neither of them mention it. His owner doesn't tease him for falling back into old habits so soon. He doesn't even think to resist or think for himself. This is their norm. Nothing out of the ordinary. How it is supposed to be. Every night, he tells himself he is happy and loved. He feels his owner's arms around him, holding him close, pushing on his dark, painful bruises and he thanks him for allowing him to stay. His master tells him he loves him, and he smiles, saying the same thing.

And he means it.

Masterlist | Ko-fi

Taglist: @morning-star-whump @whumprince

#whump #my writing #asks #anon #creepy whumper #intimate whumper #whump writing #sadistic whumper #fear #stockholm syndrome #failed escape #broken bones #begging #blindfolded #restrained #beating #recapture #captivity whump

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